A Separate Chaos
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: Whatif spin off of Chaos Theory in which Faramir is not raised as Denethor's son.
1. Prolonged Arrival, Hasty Departure

_"It was at the rising of the sun after that fateful night that Aragorn received a message…. Thus, again, Aragorn left Minas Tirith and Finduilas._

_"It was not even a year later that he received another message from the White City…. If his timing was correct, this message was coming from Finduilas._

_"For two days Aragorn hesitated to heed the plea. Still the herald would not leave him alone. Then suddenly in the middle of the night the younger lad was rudely wakened by the older ranger pulling him to his feet._

_"'Come, we ride for Minas Tirith.'"_

_Prologue selection quoted from Chaos Theory of the Truth of the Reunited Kingdom, Chapter 7, Greetings and Goodbyes_

ooo

After 52 years worth of life upon Arda, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was no simpleton by anyone's standards. He had been raised as Lord Elrond's son and was imbued with all the knowledge and wisdom befitting the man who was destined to one day become the King of Men.

On the rushed journey from the very edge of the marshes north of Cair Andros back to the White City Aragorn considered all the reasons for this call to come to him at the specific time that it did. He did all he could to come up with reasons other than the most obvious.

Nothing else was plausible though; the Lady Finduilas must surely be with child. He wondered what the odds could be that the child was someone other than his… those odds were dangerously slight. He remembered five years, the difficulty the fair lady had in delivering her first child and how Steward Ecthelion had practically begged him to use his knowledge of healing to help her, or at the very least, his grandchild, as he reportedly had done for soldiers wounded on the field.

Knowing how difficult her first delivery had been, there was no way Aragorn felt that he could not ignore this plea with any clear conscious. However, he swore to himself that unless it was much too obvious that the child was of his loins he would simply aid Finduilas's delivery and be gone. Of course, he had no plan in place for if the child was too obviously his and not Denethor's.

He arrived at sunset and immediately went to the Houses of Healing. There were few people about at that hour but still he kept his hood up, none questioned him because the Citadel messenger remained with him. It was not until he was into the birthing chambers that he removed his travel-stained cloak. Those ladies who remembered the help he had given to their lady the last time she was with child were extraordinarily glad to see him there again, it was extremely rare that any man was permitted into those chambers. Finduilas had gone into labor the night before and they had started to fear for her strength.

Candles burned by the hours of the night and still Finduilas struggled more than she ever thought she could. Finally the sun began to glimmer in the East and with all of her strength and a good deal of Aragorn's the cries of a just-born boy were heard. For a moment Aragorn just sat by and tried to catch his breath, surprised that Finduilas had not passed out the moment the child was safely delivered.

But Finduilas was far from unconsciousness, though weakened she was. Holding her child seemed to rejuvenate her immeasurably. Aragorn rose to leave without having really looked at the baby in her arms, but unexpectedly his attention was caught as the little one wriggled, seemingly testing out his new surroundings. Aragorn was unaware that Finduilas had dismissed the nurses; he did not notice that it was just the three of them alone; it did not immediately come to his attention that she had used his true name when she asked him to hold his son. All he was conscious of was just how perfect this new little boy was.

"What do you think of the name 'Faramir?'" she said in a whisper.

"Faramir," Aragorn repeated, beguiled by looking into his son's Dunedain eyes. No, there wasn't a doubt in him… this infant was his son, his firstborn. Aragorn wondered if it would be so obvious to anyone else.

"You must take him, Aragorn. Take him and be gone from the city as quickly as you can," Finduilas said weakly but urgently.

Aragorn looked up for the first time since laying eyes on his son. Fear now replaced the wonderment in his eyes. "I can not do that, Lady Fin-"

"You must do. Please take him, quickly. You know as well as I that I do not have much time left in my life. If I live another year it will be a marvel." She needed to be resting, but instead she had pushed herself up to sit, she needed to get this message across. "Take our little Faramir to safety - if he stays here… I can not be sure that…. Aragorn, Denethor knows things that I do not understand how he may know. It is most unnatural and it frightens me. I care not for my fate, but for my child. No one but you and I need know that this child has survived even this long."

Aragorn shook his head. "This can not work, though. You do not know the wilderness as I do. Many grown men can not survive, let alone an infant. Finduilas, please, he has a much better chance here than the life of exile I have."

He tried to lay Faramir back in his mother's arms, but she refused. "If I hold him again I shall never be able to let go of him. Take him to Rivendell, I beg you, that is the life he deserves, not a life of scrutiny and reproach… not a life spent in the shadow of Mordor. Denethor will not accept him if he knows the truth, and what Denethor does not accept –"

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn nodded. "I will find a way to get him to safety, regardless what sacrifice it might mean," he vowed. Quickly he wrapped his cloak around himself and tiny Faramir. "If I am to do this, it must be done at once. Farewell, Finduilas."

She shook her head though. "It is no longer my lot to fare well, unless my husband finally consents to give me leave, or banishes me back to the Sea. Keep him well, Aragorn, see to his happiness and see that he learns."

The Dúnedan bowed his head solemnly and Finduilas granted kisses to both of them before Aragorn slipped out of the Houses into the back alley, stealthily making his way out of the city of Minas Tirith. He was stopped only once, by an eager copper merchant, but the man did not recognize him and Aragorn ignored his pitch.

He "borrowed" a mount to get out of the city and across the Pelennor faster. He sent the animal back riderless at the edge of the Druadan Wood. His first notion was to try to get to Edoras quickly, then strike north from there, but rethinking that told him he would do better to get to Lothlorien first and foremost. It was his hope to find better help from the Elves than that which Men of Rohan could provide.

"It looks like north it is, my little son," Aragorn said peeking under his cloak, which sheltered the boy. "I have no notion how I am going to do this, but I will keep you safe and well somehow. I swear that above all else. Bid Gondor farewell, little one. I doubt either of us shall see this land again too soon."

ooo

_This story is dedicated to Iblis, who set me thinking about this with a note on Chapter 15 of Chaos Theory. Thanks for the inspiration!_

_I can not promise that this story will be updated, let alone completed, very soon. Shadows is coming to a conclusion and i just decided to start this to hopefully cure a case of writer's block on that i've encountered in Shadows. Sometimes too many other ideas will blot out the one's you're trying to concentrate on._

_Anyway, i definitely intend to continue this into something substantially longer, just as soon as Shadows reaches completion._


	2. Need

Three days Aragorn had been traveling on foot with his tiny, and oh-so-fragile, son. He only allowed himself rest when Faramir was resting, he couldn't very well rest when the little one was awake - all he did was sleep and cry. Aragorn was convinced that infants could do nothing else.

As for eating, his son had been feeding much better than he himself was. On his way out of the birthing chambers he had been judicious enough to make off with several bottles of some wet nurse's milk. He had no clue of how long such a supply would last, either in terms of consumption rate or before turning, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

By the fourth day Faramir no longer had a drop to drink and his father was beginning to stumble into sleep as he was walking along. Aragorn was growing more and more despondent with every cry from his little one. Eventually when the mid-day sun grew too hot for him he sank down to the ground under a tall oak tree and wept along with his son.

"Oh Faramir... what have i done? Why did i ever let your lady mother convince me to take you? You belong with your her, not some fool Ranger in the wild. Give us help, i beg you," he implored looking Westward. "I care not for myself, but please, spare my child. Do not make him suffer for my foolishness."

"Well, if it isn't the Envinyatar himself!" said a steady and familiar voice.

"Gandalf, Valar be praised! This was beyond my hope!" Aragorn exclaimed upon seeing his friend.

"Ah, well, you should know that what is beyond your hope may truly be near at hand. What is this distress, my friend? What trouble have you found yourself in now?" Gandalf said, only slight reproof in his tone.

"I must be lost... i started out four days ago and was sure i'd be to the Entwash by now. I hoped i could get to the small settlement there before our supplies ran out, but we've already been going without -"

"Whom, may i ask, is your traveling companion, Aragorn?" Gandalf interrupted, concerned for his friend's sanity when he saw no sign of anyone else with the Ranger.

"Faramir, of course!"

"And Faramir is?" the Wizard asked skeptically.

"My son!"

Gandalf looked at Aragorn as if to say that he needed to be re-hydrated immediately.

"Gandalf... my son," Aragorn said moving closer and lifting his cloak aside. The boy was cradled in a makeshift sling that allowed them to travel a little easier. "He is hungry, but i have nothing for him."

"Oh, young Aragorn... Come, we are not so far from the town you speak of. You may find help there. How ever did this come to pass and, more over, what is a fool like you doing out here alone with this child? Where do you intend to go?" Gandalf said gently.

"It's too long a story to recount. I thought to get to Lorien, first and foremost," Aragorn said wearily.

"Lorien? Whatever for?" Gandalf said surprised.

"For help! I hoped i could find better, more lasting help there first. But ultimately... i need to get him to Rivendell."

Gandalf simple shook his head. "A Mortal child will get good enough help in Edoras from Theoden-King, and you will have a much better time getting to Rivendell from there. What did you plan to do when you left Lorien, carry this little one over Caradhras?"

"Well, no... i had no idea what i would do. I just thought... i mean i hoped... Did you say _Theoden_-King?" Aragorn blathered on.

"Aye. Where have you been for the last three years lad?"

"I do not know... i do not know anything anymore, Gandalf. I just want my son to be all right. I can not let him suffer for my mistakes," Aragorn lamented.

As they walked together Aragorn recounted to his trusted friend everything that had gone on leading up to this. It was incredible how the years seemed to fall away from Aragorn and leave him a frightened man who was only just learning some of life's toughest lessons. Faramir began to cry again, as loud as ever, and it rent Aragorn's own heart to hear such misery in his child, one so small and innocent. He did everything in his power to comfort him, but nothing was working.

"May i?" Gandalf said. Aragorn looked a little hesitant but passed Faramir into Gandalf's arms. The old Maia's wrinkled countenance lit up like a candle when Faramir's tiny hands fought against the long, scraggly beard, though much more delightful sounds were being produced now.

"That is the happiest i have ever heard him," Aragorn said sadly, receiving Faramir back now that he was calm and peaceful again. "Adar thinks i am meant to be King of this gods-forsaken realm and yet i've had to steal a horse to get out of the city and milk to feed my son, and here i am now, four days later, at the mercy of the people in this equally forsaken little village," he said pointing up ahead.

Gandalf sighed. "You would do well to look upon the brighter side of things, Aragorn, while they last. Think instead that you are fortunate that there was an animal available to bear you, which you obviously did not 'steal' or you would be riding now. Think instead that your son was fed for four days, long enough to get you here. Be thankful that this forsaken little village is not yet so forsaken as to be a stronghold for the spawn of Mordor. And you might remember that when you asked for help, an old friend just happened to turn up."

Aragorn almost gave a half-smile. "I am thankful, Gandalf, but i shall not rest easy until i know Faramir is safe. Nay, i rescind that. I will not _rest_, easy or elsewise."

"Well, i trust you know how to seek for help here, and you surely know your way from here to Edoras. Unfortunately, i can not remain with you," Gandalf said.

Aragorn spun around, shock written on his face. "What? Gandalf, no, i need your help in this!"

"My help to you at this point would likely not be much aid to you at all. You are more than capable, Aragorn, and i have other commitments that i can not break. You must trust me. It would be most injudicious were i to divert my mission now." Though Gandalf sounded truly sorry that he could not help Aragorn, it seemed as though there really was something of greater importance afoot, and so they parted ways, Aragorn heading toward the village just as the sun was setting. "Oh, Aragorn! Something you might want to know... your Lady Arwen is not in Lorien. She is on a visit to home," Gandalf called.

Aragorn could not see the smirk on Gandalf's face, but he knew it was there. It had been his intention to see Arwen first of all in hopes that he could explain this someway. Looking at Faramir, though, one thing was crystal clear: no matter what Arwen's, or anyone else's, reaction, this was his son and he would stand by him to the last.

ooo

_AM: Hopefully, your questions will be answered before too long._

_liz: How could i ever let little Fara' go hungry? _

_Elenhin: Oh, i promise that we will see Boromir soon enough. He's just a tyke himself at this point, but we will check in on him._

_Redone: Natural equipment plus modern conveniences i wager. _

_Iblis: Yep, dedicated to you. You gave me the plot-bunny after all. What a coincidence that you asked for Gandalf and... there he is. I was actually in the process of writing this when i checked notes, but i already knew Gandalf would need to turn up before long, even if he hasnt offered any "overt" help. We'll see him again though, of course._

_I was so relieved that so many of you wanted to know how poor little Faramir was going to feed. I would have been a bit worried had you all just taken it on faith that he'd be fine. But i can promise that no matter what his daddy has to do, he will keep him well._


	3. A River in a Time of Dryness

As Aragorn walked into the small settlement there at the mouths of the Entwash at dusk, a man walked out and blocked his path. "What is your business here, stranger?" the burly citizen asked gruffly and rather suspiciously.

Aragorn, truly weary and growing more tired every moment he was still standing, really did not want to have to explain his situation to this troll of a man. And yet he knew too well that he was at the absolute mercy of these people. He repressed a sigh, that would only be losing another valuable breath. "I have no business here, good man, i seek only quarter."

The big man looked all the more suspicious. "Quarter? What does this town look like, the grand Steward's city with a tavern on every street? And who are you anyway? You have the look of a Ranger, in which case you shouldn't need any quarter. And if you are a Ranger, why aren't you with your company? Are you a deserter? Or perhaps they turned you out for some crime?"

Aragorn felt ready to cry in frustration, only that would have taken too much energy. It looked like this man would be satisfied with no less than his life story. It was times like these when he longed to be able to claim his title as heir of Elendil, though he would have been branded a madman to so much as say the name so near Mordor. "I am a Ranger, i am from the north, though i have served Steward Ecthelion."

"And why aren't you still in the service of the Steward? Surely he would lodge you, or at least give you his authorization to be lodged. You know, i am beginning to think more and more that you must be deserter, or else an exile." The man took a step dangerously close to Aragorn.

"The Steward gave me release of his service three years ago, i have been back to the City on occasion since then, and now i am trying to make my way home. That is all. I am no criminal."

"Why do you need lodging? The night is fair and a Ranger should be well accustomed to sleeping outdoors. You have yet to convince me that i should permit you to lodge in our village."

"Sir, i do not doubt that you are reluctant to house strangers, i too know that these days are growing dark and that one must take much care. But, please, listen to me, i am begging you... it is not for myself that i seek accommodation. My child is hungry and i am not anticipating exposing him to another night in the wild."

"Your child?" the man said in surprise.

Aragorn pulled back his cloak. Faramir was just waking and Aragorn had a feeling that in a moment he would be crying for food. It had been since that morning and Aragorn was growing desperate.

"What in the name of the gods are you doing out here alone with an infant! That little one can't be more than a few days old! Where is his mother?"

Aragorn was passed caring if he had to lie slightly about this situation. "His mother died in giving him life. My son and i have no one in this world but one another. Please, help us, or at least help him. I've done things in my life that i am not especially proud of, but since i have yet to meet a person who has not, i would think you might understand. If you refuse to aid me, fine. But surely you would not turn away an innocent baby? Please..."

At that the big man seemed to grow much less menacing. Sighing he told Aragorn to follow him. He lead them to a small house, of sorts, and knocked upon the door. A woman answered. "Good evening, Malantur," she said with a nod.

"Evening, lady. You'll forgive the interruption, but there's a man here what has a child going hungry. I thought you might be able to help." The man turned back to Aragorn. "Didn't catch your name."

Aragorn just stood there for a moment, there were so many to pick from, which would sound the best without being recognized should anyone happen to enquire later. Thorongil and Aragorn were right out for obvious reasons. Strider didn't sound very well at all. Elessar sounded too dignified. "Telcontar," he finally settled on.

"You poor man, you must be so exhausted," the lady of the house cooed. "Please come in. I have but a little to offer you, shelter and a fire, and i can feed your little one. There will surely be something i can give you too." Aragorn was nearly in tears thanking the woman for her generosity and promising that it would not be forgotten as she ushered him inside right away.

"Well, if there is anything you need...," said Malantur.

"He will be fine," the lady assured. "Go on home to your own little ones." She held her arms out and now it came to it Aragorn found himself a little reluctant to lay his son in the arms of another. "It's all right, sir, i assure you. I have my own son, he's but six months," she said soothingly, gently taking a now screaming Faramir. She went to pick up her own son to feed them both and Aragorn decided to concentrate on the fire, the ceiling, the floor, anything that didn't involve looking at the lady of the house, though she seemed to harbor no inhibition whatsoever. "You will forgive me, my name is Indis. Where is your lady wife?" she asked.

Aragorn glanced at her in confusion before hastily returning his gaze to the floor. Without thinking he replied, "I have no wife."

"Oh i am so sorry!" Indis gasped. "I ought not have asked. Now i see why Malandur brought you in. He, too, lost his wife in childbirth. He was frantic when he realized that he had no way to feed Mablung on his own. That's his youngest, only two now, but from the look of it, he'll be as hardy as his father."

Aragorn only nodded, not feeling up for conversation at the moment. A thought occurred to him though that chilled him enough to find his voice. "And what of your lord husband?" he asked. It would be all he needed to be found sitting there, a stranger for all intents and purposes alone with a woman.

Now it was Indis's turn to look dismayed. "I was three months along with Damrod," she said indicating her own boy, "when the captain of the Rangers came to tell me he'd been lost. He never even knew he was a father."

Now Aragorn did genuinely look at her. "You have my sympathy, lady Indis," he said sincerely.

She shook her head, again laying Faramir back in his father's arms. "He loved Gondor and died in the only way that would have been acceptable to him. My only regret is that he believed that he was serving not for the Steward, but in anticipation of the day that the King should return and renew Gondor. I no longer believe that any one shall ever claim the throne, unless it be that ambitious Lord Denethor. I should sooner make my home in Rohan."

Aragorn decided against saying anything at all.

"But come, my lord, you need your rest. My husband's bed is just through here," she said indicating another room. From outside this place never looked like it could house more than one person at a time.

"I thank you again, my lady," Aragorn said with a respectful bow before laying down and falling immediately into sleep.

When the sun rose, so too did Aragorn, at Faramir's insistence. Apparently Aragorn had sleep through two mid-night feedings and was again profusely thankful that Indis had taken such good care of his child. The seditious thought came to him while Faramir was having his breakfast that perhaps his son would be better off here, being raised with little Damrod, than he would being dragged all over Middle-earth with an asinine father. His little one cured that thoroughly though. Faramir grasped at his father's shirt with his tiny fists and Aragorn held him close and securely. "I love you so much, Faramir," he whispered. "I will find a way to get you home yet."

"Where is your home?" Indis asked, offering Aragorn some fresh fruit to break fast.

"Eriador," he said, almost vaguely.

"Oh, then you are of the Northern Rangers. I'd hoped this supply could help you reach your destination," she said producing a number of milk-filled bottles. "I suppose i have become the village wet nurse," she said with a half-smile.

Aragorn was about to weep of thankfulness when a gruff voice at the door said, "Doubt he'll make it all the way to the North lands on that, but probably at least to Edoras, with Niphred's help." He turned to see the Malandur in the doorway with a grey horse standing patiently behind him. At last some hope was returning to Aragorn's heart. Maybe the Valar didn't hate him so much after all.

ooo

_sidhe: Well, i have decided to update Shadows alternately with this story, so everyone gets a turn :) I have to admit, i do come up with some original ideas and i do my best to find ways to make them work themselves into canon. And also, i never capitalize "i" - it's become a matter of principle with me. I have never seen another language in which "i" is capitalized and it makes me think that it's all so pompous. If i were to capitalize "i", then i would also have to capitalize "You", because as far as i am concerned, i am not more important than you are._

_linda: No telling what Arwen will say, let along Elrond. Just have wait and see, it will all come together in good time though._

_Elenhin: I am pretty sure we will see lil Bor' in the next chapter. That should be an update from Minas Tirith._

_Raksha: I hope i don't disappoint you._


	4. Concealment

Minas Tirith

Only seconds ago Thorongil had disappeared stealthily with her little baby boy. Finduilas had been reduced to sobs. Fears now plagued her whereas moments ago she was sure that her little one would fare better with his father. Had this been a terrible mistake? Could she slip out and find the Ranger and take it all back? No... no, she could not and would not. She'd had nine long months to think this through.

Considering Denethor's strange, fey moods of late she was certain that he had been using the Elven orb that was housed in the Citadel (though she knew not where). Thorongil, her companion and friend in lonely times, and now the father of her second son, had told her much of Númenor and she learned of the palantíri from him - particularly the fact that hidden things could be revealed by them.

Her tears were unrelenting though. She had been sure that it would not be easy to send her baby away, but she hadn't thought it could hurt this much. She knew she wanted this child to be raised with love and understanding and knowledge and the few years she had been married to Denethor proved to her that these were luxuries which not even the Stewards could buy. And yet she begged that the Gods might preserve her little one long enough to reach sanctuary... maybe Thorongil had been right.

Just outside the birthing chamber stood Mithrellas, Finduilas's lady in waiting and best friend. They had been as sisters to one another from their youth in Dol Amroth and Mithrellas had accompanied Finduilas to Minas Tirith when she was sent to marry Denethor. Mithrellas was a woman dignity and strong constitution, often in contrast to Finduilas's anemic health and sometimes over-acquiescent disposition.

She had been there beside her dear friend as the poor woman spent hours in labor and she almost refused to leave even when Finduilas dismissed the nurses but she knew her friend well and from her confidences knew that the Ranger who had suddenly appeared was most likely the baby's father. Mithrellas now regretted having left the city for those few years after Boromir was born, for she knew that it was Finduilas's loneliness combined with the Ranger's pity for her (to say nothing of the classic male weakness) that had caused this situation, but her father in Dol Amroth had been ailing and there was no other kin to be there with him.

Boromir was there in the hallway, too, clinging onto Mithrellas's skirt for dear life, thumb firmly planted between his trembling lips. He was but a child of five and this was the first time he'd ever been passed the gate which stood between the seventh and sixth levels of the city. It was a completely different world beyond the Citadel, a big world and one that was quite frightening to a young child, for whom everything looked so much bigger and more confusing. Mithrellas had been assigned to keep watch over Boromir, the heir to the Stewardship, until a suitable new nurse was found, the previous nurse having succumbed to old age only a week prior.

Hearing her friend's unconcealed, nearly hysterical sobs through the door, Mithrellas gently pried Boromir's fist from her skirt, reattaching it that of the nearest nurse. "I am going to check on your mummy," she said gently, "just wait here like a good little soldier, Bori." When one of the other nurses attempted to enter the chamber with her, she politely but firmly refused to allow her, saying that if anything needed the attention of a nurse she would let them known. Mithrellas took one look at Finduilas and quickly locked the door behind her.

Sitting down beside her friend and taking her hands in her own, she gently coaxed, "Fin? Fin, come, look at me. What happened?"

"He took him away," Finduilas whispered. She could not speak aloud, her voice could not manage the volume.

"The Ranger?" Mithrellas whispered.

Finduilas only nodded.

"He was his son, then?"

Again Finduilas only nodded, now clutching her friend's hands tightly.

"Oh, Fin'!" Mithrellas sobbed, letting go of Finduilas's hands to hug her friend tightly. She herself knew what it was to lose a child, just not in this same way.

Suddenly Finduilas grew frantic. "Rel', swear to me... you must swear it, no one else must know!"

"Not from me, Fin'. Never from me. I know your story and the only words anyone shall hear from me will support it. Does he have a name?"

Finduilas lay back down, trying to calm herself. She had not the energy for sitting upright. "Faramir," she whispered as new tears overcame her.

Mithrellas sat by quietly for a while, just holding Finduilas's hand and reassuring her. She began to wonder just what a Ranger would do out in the wild with an infant; yes, they were clever, Rangers, but could one manage to care for a child? Though she doubted she would ever learn the answer, she hoped the child would make it to safety. Finduilas was just beginning to fall asleep when there came a commotion from out in the hallway.

There had been a break between sessions of the military council and the Steward's council, on both of which Denethor sat in his father's stead due to the Steward's ailing health, and Ecthelion urged his son to spare a moment to see how his wife was coming along.

For a moment, Denethor did not notice his young son as the nurses about the chamber door curtsied and slowly backed away a bit, but Boromir was extremely glad to see his father and ran forth, expecting to be lifted up into his arms like always. Instead Denethor stood there, not sure if he was actually seeing his son here in this hallway. Suddenly Boromir remembered what his father had been trying to teach him of late about "public comportment." Quickly the child knelt upon one knee, trying to keep his balance, bowed his head, and said in as formal a voice as a five year old can manage, "I greet thee, my lord."

Denethor nodded, indicating to Boromir to stand again, then turned to the gathered women. "_What_ is my son doing here?" he demanded sharply.

None were very keen to answer, but as Denethor's stare intensified someone finally thought it best to reply. "My Lord, the Lady Mithrellas -"

"Oh, _that_ impudent woman... i might have known!" Denethor growled. He tried the door without even asking if Finduilas was delivered yet, or even if she was well. Finding it locked infuriated him. "Why is this door locked?" he inquired angrily. "I demand to see my wife!" he shouted, pounding upon the door.

The nurses just stood there in shock, no one could say anything of course, but had it been anyone else causing all that uproar in this place of all places it would not have been tolerated. It took only seconds for the Warden of the Houses to come rushing in, highly aggravated to hear such noises in the vicinity of his healing quarters. It was bad enough they had to share the street with the stables, but this... "Who dares to disturb -" began to the Warden as he rounded the corner, stopping suddenly when he saw the Steward's heir. "Your Lordship! I beg your pardon," he said with a deep bow.

"I will deal pardons later, Warden," Denethor snapped. "Why is this door locked?"

"This door is locked to afford your lady wife some peace," said Mithrellas defiantly. "However, Finduilas never seems to get any peace when _you_ are about!"

"You will _not_ take such a tone with _me_, woman!" Denethor said dangerously.

"Then i would advise you to guard your own tone. You are not yet Steward of this realm, Denethor. Get back to your Citadel and let Finduilas rest," Mithrellas said, turning away to see to her friend again.

Denethor grasped her arm firmly, though, wrenching her back toward him. It was taking all of his restraint to keep from backhanding the acid-tongued lady. "What," he said tightly, "is Finduilas's condition?"

"No condition to have you storming in," Mithrellas said without an ounce of fear.

Meanwhile, Boromir to decided to slip away from the argument and found that the quietest place was where his mummy was laying in bed. She looked over to see him, a tragically sad smile came over her and she held out her arms to hold her boy. She hugged Boromir and wept.

"Mumma... what's wrong?" he asked, his little arms wrapped around his mother's neck. Boromir took a piece of candy from his belt pouch, a standard accessory to the miniature Citadel Guard uniform he wore. "Here, it's peppermint," he said, "it always makes me feel better."

"Thank you, Bori'," she said, setting it on the table beside her. "You will be a wonderful soldier some day. Your men will love you if you remember their needs, my little one."

Boromir seemed to consider this for a moment, then he settled into his mother's arms again and asked, "Mumma, do i have a brother or sister yet?"

Finduilas said nothing, but held onto her child and sobbed.

That was when Denethor shoved his was passed Mithrellas into Finduilas's chamber. The sight of her so pale and fragile cut him to the quick. He had loved this woman and still did, and now she looked closer to death than his father. "Finduilas...," he said in a shaking voice, "what happened? Where is the child?"

Finduilas released Boromir and told him to go run along. He kissed her on the cheek and hopped down from the bed. He made to kneel before his father, but Denethor's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "That's all right, child, not just now. Do as your mother says."

Mithrellas saw that Boromir was sent along with one of the nurses and then resumed her place at Finduilas's side. Denethor meant to shoot her a glare but couldn't muster one for all of his fear.

"Finduilas, what happened?" he asked again, now plainly worried.

"He's gone, Denethor," she said in a tear-laden voice.

"Gone? But... Oh, gods, Fin'," Denethor faltered briefly. "But what was done with -"

"Oh do not be so naive, Denethor," Mithrellas said. "It is common knowledge what is done with a stillborn." She felt no need to conceal her lie to him in a half-truth.

"Stay out of this, woman!" Denethor growled.

Finduilas could sense that this would only escalate if she did not intervene. "Please, please, just let me have peace. I want to sleep, i do not wish to speak of this anymore."

"Of course, Fin'," Mithrellas said soothingly. "We will go and i shall to it that _no one_ creates any further upset."

"Finduilas... you will recover. You will get well again and there can always be other children," Denethor said, more as a plea than an assurance.

"Over my dead body!" Mithrellas said. "This has nearly killed your wife and you speak of more children?"

"Both of you stop! Go away, everyone! I want to be alone," Finduilas cried, straining her voice and energy in agitation as she tried to fend off the blackness that was edging into her vision before she surrendered to exhaustion in a faint.

ooo

_sidhe - You are one of the few people who thinks it a good point that i don't capitalize "i"s. Thanks! Damrod and Mablung - a total afterthought. It just suddenly seemed to work._

_Elenhin: Little Faramir is most definitely the cutest baby ever! Though little Boromir is running a close second here, of course. I already have their future meeting mapped out. As a reply from Shadows: I do mean green beer. Thursday, being that highest of holidays, St. Patrick's Day, the beer was assuredly green, a sort of moss-green. Granted, it used to be good old Rolling Rock (best brewed beer in the world from my own hometown!), but a single drop of green food coloring and your Irish eyes will be smiling no matter where you are from! No, it isn't actually any more alcoholic, but you could fool me. And if you can't get green, Guinness will do just fine too!_

_linda: Aragorn the Dunedan and Aragorn the clumsy new father are two rather different images, no?_

_Iblis: I love Gandalf and little Fara' too! Don't worry, he will be back, though i can't say when for sure. After all, Aragorn is going to need all the help he can get._

_Back to Aragorn and lil' Faramir next chapter._


	5. A Harbor in the Tempest

Rohan

Aragorn had been keeping close to the Entwash for the last four days rather than riding the Great West Road as the priority was keeping near a water supply. For the first time since leaving Imladris Aragorn seemed to really care about cleanliness, granted, it was still less about his own than his son's, but it was still a step in the right direction.

Up ahead in the distance could be seen the edge of a stand of trees, that meant that the Snowbourne was not far off, and Edoras not far from there. Aragorn was thankful that there was not much farther to go. He had been fortunate in that most villages he passed there were new mothers more than happy to feed his little one and so he only had to use the small supply given him by Indis between villages. Instinctively Aragorn felt that Faramir should have only nursed from Finduilas, but his little one never seemed to mind as long as he was being fed.

Faramir had an amazing disposition, sometimes while they road along Aragorn would catch him staring up at his father with the most curious and thoughtful, yet peaceful, eyes. Aragorn loved his son more every single day and knew that had he left this child behind in Minas Tirith he would have regretted it for the rest of his life. He figured they were faring well enough and so had allowed himself to stop berating himself about allowing Finduilas to talk him into this.

Aragorn was pulled out of his thoughts by an approaching éored. The thunderous sound did not set well with Faramir, though Aragorn took care to cover his tiny ears as best he could.

"Who goes there?" shouted their captain. It was a voice Aragorn recognized well.

"Éomund? It is i, Thorongil," Aragorn called back.

Éomund signaled for his man to stay as he rode ahead. "Thorongil? _Béma_! It is you! How do you fare, man? What brings you here again?"

"One question at a time, Éo'. It eases my greatly heart to see you. I am on my way north, trying to get to Eriador. And i fare well enough, we have made it this far, at any rate," Aragorn said.

Éomund looked a little curious as he saw no one else about. Perhaps Thorongil meant the horse... naturally. "Well," he said, "what news of the wide world of the Ranger? It has been years since our paths last crossed."

Aragorn shrugged. "There is little to report, all the usual. But tell me, would i still have the welcome of the Golden Hall? We are in need of respite and it was my dearest hope to find it at Edoras."

Éomund smiled. "Of course you are welcome! The great Thorongil, in our halls again. It is a cause for celebration. Alas that i can not join you but we are headed eastward."

Aragorn nodded, he needed no escort, these lands were known well enough to him. "How fares the Marshal?" he asked, referring to Éomund's father.

"I fare well enough to keep me upright, my friend," Éomund said cheerlessly.

"Ah, i am sorry, Éomund. He was a good man," Aragorn said.

Éomund nodded. "Much has changed since you have been here last, Thorongil. I ought to bring you up to date. Most particularly we buried Thengel three years ago. Théoden is now King of Rohan. He has a son, Théodred, who is five, but the Lady Elfhild did not survive the delivery. I myself am i married man, and i was to be a father, but it did not survive. There has been much sorrow mixed with the pleasure in Rohan, Thorongil. My suspicion is that it has something to do with the sorcery at Isengard."

Aragorn wondered about that, it seemed a valid point to him. Always had there been some suspicion in Gandalf's tone when he mentioned Saruman, when he mentioned him at all. But he decided to change the subject as they rode back toward the éored. "And who is your lady wife?" he asked, though he felt rather sure he knew.

"The King's sister, Théodwyn," Éomund answered, his love for her all too evident.

Aragorn grinned. "Just as i thought. Oh, the way you used to look at her... and she at you!"

Éomund took the ribbing and was about to turn the tables on his friend when Faramir decided he'd had quite enough of being left out of the conversation and decided to make himself known. Éomund's eyes widened. "Oh! This is what you meant by "we" - i thought you were referring to your mount!"

Aragorn had to laugh. He had never traveled with anyone who couldn't introduce himself before and so never really thought of it until Faramir reminded him. "Éomund, this is my son, Faramir," he said, pulling back his cloak.

"Greetings of the Mark, youngling," Éomund said with all seriousness before looking back up at Aragorn. "He is so small!"

Aragorn nodded. "He only just celebrated his first week in the world. It's been a little difficult for the both of us."

"Gods, Thorongil! Where is his mother?" Éomund gasped in shock.

Aragorn said nothing, but only held Faramir closer. He hated lying, especially to friends, but these were clearly extenuating circumstances. He hoped that Éomund would simply get the idea that he did not wish to discuss that topic, as in fact he did.

"I truly wish i could stay and see you back to the Hall, but we must be going. Get you and your little one to the Hall. I am sure Théodwyn will be happy to help feed your son. May the gods look well upon you, Thorongil," Éomund called as they parted.

"And you, Éomund, you and yours!" Aragorn called back and continued heading for Edoras, where they arrived after another two days journey.

Entering the Golden Hall, Thorongil, nee Aragorn, was warmly received and Faramir was instantly the darling of the court with the King's sisters. Everyone at Edoras remembered Thorongil well and they were delighted to have him stay with them for as long as he liked. Aragorn was very tempted to make the stay long enough that Faramir could feed regularly without him relying on strangers, but his instinct was to get to Imladris as soon as he could. Still, a week's rest surely would not hurt anyone. Aragorn was extraordinarily thankful for their hospitality and gave his word that it would be repaid in kind one day.

As it happened, at the end of that week another visitor suddenly turned up in Edoras, one who was slightly less graciously received, but nevertheless revered. It made Aragorn wonder just how Gandalf always turned up when most needed and least expected. His old friend convinced him to stay on for another week more and during that week, as usual, Mithrandir mysteriously disappeared again. But right on schedule he showed up again and told Aragorn that he would be more than happy to accompany him on the north way to Rivendell. Aragorn couldn't help but think this had been in the wily old wizard's plans all along.

ooo

The road between Edoras and Imladris was a long and lonely one, a hard enough journey for a grown man. It would take at least a month and Aragorn really did not know how he was going to feed Faramir for more than a few days. By their third day out from Edoras already the supply of milk from Théodwyn was dangerously low. Aragorn was frustrated with this constant scenario of not being able to feed his infant son, he was sick of living like a homeless beggar, and above all he was absolutely furious with himself for endangering his own child so.

That night as they took a meagerdinner by theircampfire Aragorn made up his mind. "I am going back in the morning. I never should have done this," he said regretfully.

Gandalf nearly choked to hear that. "Going back where, Estel?" he said gruffly and somewhat derisively.

"Edoras," Aragorn said blankly. "This is foolishness, my son can not survive this journey. I will go back and serve Théoden as i may until Faramir is old enough to make this journey with me in some relative safety."

Gandalf was at least a little relieved to hear that, his first thought was that Aragorn intended to go back to Minas Tirith. Still, he did not consider Edoras an option either for the same reasons he'd advised Aragorn to leave Gondor several years ago. And he was really rather disappointed that his long time friend apparently did not trust his help on this journey. "Estel, settle yourself. You are going nowhere but north where you belong," Gandalf said patiently.

"This is not about me, Gandalf, this is about Faramir. I will not endanger him more than i already have. And i would thank you to cease telling me what to do," he said bristling a bit.

"It would be especially unwise of you to spend more time in Rohan right now, Estel. Please trust me," Gandalf said a little more emphatically.

"How many times do i have to say, this has nothing to do with me anymore. I no longer matter," Aragorn said, raising his voice also.

"Ask your son if he agrees with that," Gandalf grunted almost under his breath. "Did you really think i would bring you out here if i knew of no way to get both you and Faramir safely to your haven?"

Aragorn was beginning to wonder why Gandalf was so insistent about this, not to mention why he kept calling him Estel. He was not generally known by that name outside of Rivendell, and years ago had introduced himself to Gandalf as Aragorn. And why did Gandalf say "your haven" instead of simply "Rivendell?" He decided not to ask, if the old Wizard was being secretive it was for a reason, and not likely one he would drag out of him any time soon. Instead Aragorn questioned how he proposed to keep his son healthy and fed.

That Gandalf did answer. "We are coming upon Dunland. There are little 'villages' all over this land and more than likely you will find help, enough if not plenty."

"Dunland!" Aragorn shouted in disbelief. "Are you mad, Gandalf? Dunland? May i suggest you hold back on the galenas. That is out of the question. Absolutely not."

"May i ask why?" Gandalf said calmly.

"Gandalf! They are blood-enemies of the Rohirrim!" Aragorn said in shock of this idea.

"Well, my boy, you are not Rohirric, are you? Estel, you are going to have to be a little less choosy about the methods you employ to see to it that you and Faramir both survive," the Wizard replied, lighting his pipe.

"Gandalf, i would rather fall on my sword than see my baby hurt," Aragorn said desperately. "I have to go back to Edoras, i have no choice."

"Did you mark the odd man in Théoden's court, Estel?" Gandalf said, still perfectly calm and appearing to switch gears rather suddenly.

It took Aragorn a moment to catch up with Gandalf on that one and his rationale was still unclear. "The pale man in dark robes? What of him?"

"Spy," was all that Gandalf said.

"What? For whom? How do you know this?" Aragorn asked incredulously. Yes, he thought the sniveling little man rather odd, even a little weird, but a spy? He didn't look like he had the wits to spy, he certainly lacked the wits to bathe.

Gandalf laughed curtly. "Some things can not be spoken of so openly, Estel. The situation in Rohan is going to turn precarious before long. I would not see you and Faramir in the middle of it."

Aragorn shook his head. He was sick of not getting any straight answers. "I do not know, Gandalf... i-"

Gandalf sighed, exasperated. "Must i spell it out for you? That worm is a spy for a certain member of my order, who, unless i am quite mistaken, is in possession of a seeing stone... like the one that used to be housed in Minas Ithil and the one currently housed in Minas Tirith. The alignment of those three stones spells incredible danger for you and your heir."

The resigned look on Aragorn's face said all Gandalf needed. "Good, finally i have found a way to get through your thick skull. If i were you i would get some sleep tonight. You are going to have to do some traveling on your own tomorrow. No, do not worry, i will catch up to you by sundown. It will be like that off and on for a while so resign yourself to that as well. If you just trust me i can get us to Imladris in less than a month. I would ask you to appreciate the road we travel at least to Celebdil. It will actually grow difficult from there."

ooo

_sidhe: I know, it is sad for poor Finduilas. We will have to catch up on things in Minas Tirith again soon._

_Elenhin: I see one little flaw in the cutest kid contest... we've left out poor, sweet little Elboron. Obviously not in the context of this story, but over all. Still, though, poor Aragorn won't be losing his title any time soon. It's a good thing he has Gandalf around. As for dying my hair green, i doubt it'd work for me. My hair is red, really red, true red, from the roots out. And i can't promise that the twins will be impersonating snakes anymore in Shadows, but they certainly have a few schemes they're working on._

_linda: Oh... how long will Denethor be fooled, indeed. And what happens when he finds out? I think i'll just go hide under the bed for a while..._


	6. Near at Hand

That first evening when Gandalf had shown up in the camp that Aragorn had set up, the new father had been very seriously hesitant to feed his son the milk that Gandalf had brought back with him. Faramir did not seem to care if it was goat's milk, his point was that he was hungry and he made the fact known clearly. It broke Aragorn to hear his baby's cries... but was it really safe to feed him this?

"Estel," Gandalf began, sounding exasperated, "there is little choice that you have. For one, it is scarcely safe for any of us to have a crying infant in our midst. We have only been fortunate so far that no enemy has picked up the sound. More to the point, you can not think that i would ever endanger you or your child. If you do think that i see no reason to continue to accompany you. And from where i stand, the women of Dunland are absolutely no different from any Mortal women. When it was heard that there was a traveler who could not feed his child without their help, they were compassionate."

"And what if one of those women mentions to her husband that there is a traveler in the region? I doubt that they will be so compassionate," Aragorn said tersely, but feed Faramir of the milk knowing he had no choice.

As they moved on through the land at the best speeds they could manage, greatly thankful for the pair of horses gifted from Rohan, Aragorn found that the milk his son had been taking was not having any adverse effects on his little one. Still, he would not permit himself to grow comfortable. He knew for certain that the further they went toward Hollin, the more cautious they would need to be.

One night as they lay in camp, Aragorn keeping his little Faramir close to him as the babe slept peacefully, a waning moon caught his attention. Thinking back over the last few weeks, Aragorn realized that in another week Faramir would be two months old. He started to think about all the little things that his son could already do, things as simple as lifting his head and supporting himself on his arms. His grasp seemed to be getting stronger too. Only that morning had he taken a strong hold on his father's hair whilst being changed. Aragorn chuckled lightly to think that this little one was growing every day and now, in just two short months, he was beginning to feel at least some confidence about fatherhood. He knew without a doubt that life without his son would be utterly unimaginable. He also knew that the smile he wore was reflected in his eyes for the first time in years.

But that was not all that was reflecting in Aragorn's eyes. Glancing over at Gandalf who was asleep wide-eyed, a detail that still perturbed the Mortal slightly, he noticed a bluish glow from the Wizard's side. Shifting to sit up, Aragorn saw that Glamdring was glowing faintly, just enough to be a timely warning.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn hissed, swiftly but gently scooping up Faramir and holding him close. "Gandalf! Wake up!" he said, giving the Maia a forceful shove.

"What!" Gandalf grumbled sleepily, turning over as if to go back to sleep, but bolting upright when he too saw the blue glow from the Elven sword. This looked like a reason to be thankful for a meager camp which needed no breaking down for a quick escape. Gandalf listened intently to the surroundings. The orcs were moving at a fast pace, it seemed that they had crossed Hollin Ridge and were making for the Redhorn Pass. Aragorn, Faramir, and Gandalf had crossed the Sirannon two days ago, and just happened to be right in their path.

"Quickly, mount up and get out of here. They will be too many, there are at least 30 of them, by the sound of it," Gandalf said.

"What about you?" Aragorn asked, even while he complied without hesitation. Rarely did he ever travel with anyone, but when it came to a fight, he was not the sort of man to leave a companion behind.

"I will hold them off as long as i can. The least i can do is distract them for you. Do not double back if you can avoid it, keep heading north. I think they are trying to get to Caradhras. I will catch you up when it is safe. Go quietly but swiftly. Get going! Get out of here, now!" Gandalf ordered, riding in the direction he'd heard the orcs coming from.

Aragorn hastened off, making for the northwest in order to, hopefully, circumvent the fray. He guided the horse he was riding to move as soundlessly as possible while still not wasting time and he held Faramir as securely and steadily as he could manage. He begged the gods that his son would not wake up hungry until they were out of this situation.

The sound of his very heartbeat seemed much too loud when he peered out from behind a line of trees and saw what looked more like 40 or 50 orcs flat out running across a field. They were not a half a mile from them. Instinctively he drew his cloak a little closer as he held onto Faramir who was, mercifully, still resting soundly in the makeshift sling Aragorn had fashioned.

They had not been noticed and slowly, very slowly Aragorn began to move away again. It seemed that the Valar had seen fit to preserve them for yet another day. All he had to worry about now was when, or if, Gandalf would find them again. He knew his way home from here well enough, but it would not be easy to get there would his friend's support. Having Gandalf to run off and search for someone willing to feed Faramir was invaluable, though Aragorn was truly beginning to wonder how he was actually doing it since they'd passed out of Dunland days ago. Still, he did not care to question at the moment, only to be thankful and keep moving away, his mind trained only on protecting his son at all costs.

It was ten minutes after the orcs had passed the range of his hearing that he heard the sound of riders following the orcs. They were riding hard and fierce, but it did not sound like a sizable party. Who would be fool enough to chase after a troop of orcs in small numbers? Again Aragorn stopped and waited, keeping out of sight. This time, though, Faramir began to squirm and fuss, though his father pleaded with him to be still for just a while longer. If these riders were not friendly... well, Aragorn did not want to dwell on that option, hoping instead that they might turn out to be Dunedain kin who could provide them help.

It was beyond Aragorn's hope that he might have the aid of the Eldar just yet, but when it just so happened that two Elves came charging into view across the field, Aragorn could not stop himself from calling out to them. It was as Gandalf had said when he found him so desperate near the mouths of the Entwash, "that which is beyond hope may truly be near at hand."

"Well, well, well... look who we have here!" Elladan said, riding toward the Ranger.

"What are you doing here?" Elrohir asked, his horse's stride matching his brother's exactly.

"You did have the sense to hide from those orcs it seems," Elladan said.

"You should get yourself home. We will catch up to you once we have them taken care of," Elrohir said. The twins turned to continue their pursuit.

"Wait!" Aragorn shouted, finally getting a word in edgewise. It was not easy conversing, let alone communicating, with those two.

"No, Estel, you wait. Right here. This will not take long if we have anything to do with it," Elladan said, sounding rather commanding.

"I need your help," Aragorn pleaded, though highly annoyed at his brother's tone.

"Are you hurt?" Elladan asked.

"No," was the reply.

"Then wait here," Elrohir said sharply. "I have no intention of resting until every one of those miscreations are dead."

They were off again before Aragorn could say anything. He should have known it would be so. Nothing in all Middle-earth could ever stand between those two and a quarry of orc. For as fun-loving and, how to put it politely... mischievous, as they were usually, the mere hint of orcs turned them into two of fiercest warriors ever encountered.

"Those two madmen were your uncles, if you can believe that," Aragorn told Faramir.

Faramir started to cry in earnest. This was not the kind of night he was used to and he did not like it one bit. Aragorn decided to settled back down for a while until someone, hopefully three someones, came through this way. Dismounting behind that protective line of trees and taking out what was left of the milk supply, Aragorn held the bottle to his son's mouth, marveling at the tiny hands that grasped either side of the bottle as if to hold it for himself. Independent, intelligent, strong, but polite enough to be quite when others were talking... for the most part, anyway - this was his own son and he loved him with every fiber of his being.

They were probably about a week from Rivendell, if they held pace, Aragorn guessed. Now concern began to gnaw at him though. For as much as he loved his child, there was no guarantee that everyone else would. He could think of at least two people, maybe four, who could actually be very unhappy about this situation. It broke his heart completely to think of any of his family not accepting Faramir, or rejecting himself, but as far as Aragorn was concerned, his first responsibility was now and forever would be to his son, and nothing could make him resent that. For all they had been through in the last couple of months, their bond was far too strong to ever let anything come between them.

ooo

_Luthien: Thanks for the review! Glad you're enjoying the story._

_sidhe: Next chapter will either be the continuation of this one, or i might get devious and head back to Minas Tirith and leave this hanging a bit. I don't supposei am very good at doing truly evil cliffhangers, and anyway, this story is a little too much on the fluffy side for cliffhangers. I could never really put innocent baby Faramir into real danger... or could i?_

_Elenhin: I would definitely like to read your "Mouse Army". Send it over when you get the chance! _

_Rosie: I know it's AU, but i still try to keep it as canon and in-character as possible. To me, just because you are setting up a different situation doesn't mean you have to change everything. One little bit of change goes a very long way in fanfic._

_linda: I think it can be safely said that most people _hope_ Gandalf knows what he's doing, because rather frequently it _seems_ as if he does not._


	7. Hope

It was mid-day when three orc-blood-stained riders came through the field again. The twins rode over to the tree line, Gandalf following. Now that the orcs they were pursuing were no more, the twins greatly wanted to see and spend time with their baby brother. It had been years since he was last home, 27 years in fact.

Aragorn was leaning back against a tree, Faramir cradled in his arms and drinking the last from the little bottle. They would need to replenish the supply, soon. Aragorn was exhausted and only awake by sheer force of will; he did not hear his brothers approach.

Elladan and Elrohir were both surprised to see an infant in Aragorn's arms, there had not been any sign of one so young the night before, surely. For a moment they just watched, neither failed to note the exhaustion in their brother, and nor did they overlook the sense of contentment about him. He looked like a proud father might look... exactly how a proud father would like. They observed how alike the child looked to the Man. There was only one conclusion to come to.

"Well, it is a good thing in the end, 'Dan," Elrohir whispered to his brother. "This way the line of Isildur will not be broken when adar and Arwen kill him."

"This is not a joking matter, 'Ro. This is serious," Elladan hissed back. "If that is Estel's child...-"

Aragorn sighed. For some reason they always thought his hearing was so poor. Granted, he did not quite have Elven ears, but nor was he deaf. "This _is_ my son and his name is Faramir. If you would like to meet him instead of standing there hypothesizing, you are quite welcome to - he does not bite, yet."

"Estel, we did not mean to...," Elladan began to apologize, but curiosity won out. "How did you come to have a son and what of his mother?"

"It is a long story, one i fear i shall be telling quite often," Aragorn said. "I would greatly prefer to remain silent on that matter until later. For now, i had rather hoped that you might want to meet your nephew. My advice to you is to get over your shock or surprise or whatever it is you are feeling. He and i are together from now on. It may take some getting used to, but whomever can not or will not get used to it," Aragorn shrugged, "so be it."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances. "Our nephew," Elrohir said contemplatively, as if trying out the idea. "He is a cute little fellow." Elrohir attempted to pick up Faramir, but the baby screamed piercingly. The same effect was produced when Elladan tried to hold him. "I do not believe he likes us, Estel."

"We should clean up before handling him anyway," Elladan said. "Come on, we can talk afterward. We will bring lunch back with us. There are a few things to eat in the saddlebags," he said to his little brother, "you are looking malnourished. I think 'Wen packed us some lembas."

The twins walked off to look for a water supply while Gandalf stayed with Aragorn and Faramir. He was a great deal less blood-splattered as a result of actually trying to keep his distance from the orcs instead of rushing right into combat. It could be said that carrying Glamdring was also helpful, these were obviously mountain orcs who knew something about the particular sword that the Maia bore.

Aragorn looked as though he was about to drop over and so Gandalf volunteered to watch after the little one. Faramir liked Gandalf a lot, especially when he could get his hands tangled up in his long beard, causing them both to laugh delightedly.

"I'm glad you are on my side, Gandalf," Aragorn muttered before falling sound asleep.

"I am confident that i shall not end up the only one, Aragorn," the Wizard said. "Faramir is entirely too charming, and you should not underestimate how loved you are at home." He knew Aragorn did not hear a word he said, but it was just as well. The young man needed his sleep more than he did worry and concern.

Aragorn was still asleep when the twins came back from cleaning up, carrying some roots and berries of significant dietetic value. Sleeping humans always seemed so vulnerable to the Eldar, how they would lie there, eyes closed, blissfully unaware of their surroundings.

Elladan gently brushed aside a lock of hair that had found a place to rest in Aragorn's mouth - Elrohir was too busy trying not to laugh at him. "We have really gotten into some predicaments together in our days," he said quietly. "I never imagined this one though."

Elrohir managed to sober up, their little brother really did seem very helpless like this. Sometimes it seemed that while he had grown physically to manhood, there was still a part of him that would always need looking after. "We have always protected little Estel, 'Dan. Except when we were tormenting him... but that is not the point. The point is that this is no exception. He is still our little brother."

"And Faramir is still your little nephew," Gandalf said, standing up with some difficulty and disentangling Faramir's tiny hands from his beard. He made to lay the infant in Elrohir's arms but he backed away hesitantly.

"He really does not like me, Mithrandir," Elrohir said. "You saw how he acted before."

"That is nonsense, young Peredhel! You were covered in orc blood earlier. Hold him," Gandalf insisted. Faramir did not cry out, but he did not seem entirely pleased either. "Oh, i nearly forgot," Gandalf said taking a few strands of Elrohir's hair and putting them into Faramir's hand, cheering up the little one instantly. "You see, he quite likes you."

"Remind me to keep my hair braided from now on," Elrohir muttered. He hated to admit it, but Faramir had just stolen his heart with that joyful little smile and he was reluctant to let Elladan take him.

Faramir looked a little confused when he looked up to see that holding him was the same Elf who had been holding him a moment ago and was now busy re-braiding his hair. He was not going to press for answers, though, not as long as someone kept him fed, or at least as long as he could have a handful of someone's hair.

Elladan, too, was defenseless against Faramir's charm and fell in love with his little nephew. "There is no doubt, he is most definitely his father's son," Elladan said, remembering Aragorn's childhood habit of hair-pulling.

After a few minutes of contentedly tugging at Elladan's hair, Faramir soon got bored and remembered that he was hungry. He hadn't really had his fill earlier when his daddy was feeding him, he'd run out of milk and then the two matching Elves interrupted them anyway. Now he was hungry again and decided to fuss and cry, that usually got him food, and when it didn't get him food it got his daddy to hold him close for a while.

Faramir's cries woke Aragorn instantly. He knew his son needed to be fed, but there was not a drop left for him. Aragorn grew worried for he knew this land well and knew that there were no little settlements around where a wet-nurse might be found. The closest inhabited area was Rivendell, but that would take a week's journey.

Elladan had returned Faramir to his father's arms, wondering if an idea that had just come to him would work. He took one of the bottles little Faramir fed from, filled it with clean water, and sprinkled in some crumbs from the lembas that Arwen had packed for them. Aragorn had his doubts about this, but tried it anyway. Faramir seemed to enjoy the mixture very much and it kept him satisfied for much longer than ordinary milk.

So it was that Aragorn had somewhat of a respite from his fears of feeding his child, and he was able to make the last of the journey in relative composure. His brothers, at least, seemed to accept his child and that gave him great hope, more hope than he'd had since before his little one had come into the world.

ooo

_Elenhin: Poor Aragorn, i can imagine his panic when Faramir does get mobile. It won't be too very long, i don't think. As to adding Mir to cutest kid's list, i see no trouble with that at all!_

_linda: The journey is nearly over, which means that some moments of truth will be coming up very soon. Wait and see how that works out!_

_grumpy: Gotta love the twins, no matter what. There is just something about them, you can never really stay mad at them for too long._

_Next chapter is likely to be a visit in Minas Tirith again, just to tease you all a little longer about the reception Aragorn and Faramir get at home in Rivendell._


	8. Suspicion

Minas Tirith

It had not yet been a week since Finduilas had "lost" her child. She was not showing any signs of improvement, physically or emotionally. She had been moved from the birthing chambers to a recovery ward that overlooked the garden in hopes that the fresh scents carried on the spring breezes would help her convalescence. Yet her unhappiness remained.

Her dearest friend Mithrellas scarcely left her side, only when Finduilas insisted that everyone leave her alone. Denethor had been coming less and less frequently to see her and it could stay that way as far as she was concerned. She had long since begun to wonder why she ever had been so love-struck by the Steward's son. He had seemed so dignified and brave and powerful and bluff in such a charming way, whereas now all he seemed to her was an authoritative, pompous, and rude old man.

She could already tell that her little Bori was going to be just the same when he grew up, he would enthrall every woman in Gondor right out of her skirts before she even knew what was happening. She only prayed that he would never have to inherit the ruling Stewardship. Maybe by then Aragorn would have found the courage to take up his crown or perhaps even her little Faramir would one day rule over Gondor with peace.

Denethor's father was not getting any better. Nor was his wife, and the child she had been heavy with less than a week ago had not survived, causing him to doubt his virility. He himself was increasingly put upon by taking up the duties that Ecthelion could no longer attend to. At times it seemed that the world was trying to overwhelm Denethor and the only bit of joy left in his life was his best little soldier, his Boromir.

There had been several reports of an upsurge in orc activity but the most recent reports were sporadic and erratic at best. There was no consistency to them that would facilitate making a decisive strike against the orc armies and Denethor was not about to send battalions to every little village's borders. Yet, the reports had grown ever more demanding and he began to fear an uprising. Already he had noticed people in the markets of his own city whispering and giving wary glancing his way whenever he rode out. He had decided that the best thing to do would be to consult that one source he trusted to give him an accurate view of his borders.

Denethor went to the secret room in the very top of the Tower of Ecthelion. It was not the first time he had been there to turn to the seeing stone in military matters. He had been more than hesitant to trust his sources of late and his escalating workload demanded that he be fully informed of movements within the realm of what would soon be his rule.

The heir to the Stewardship uncovered the globe of Fëanor's craft and waited as it began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter until its light filled the tower chamber. He looked closely into the sphere, first glimpsing Osgiliath and Cair Andros, the two main points of his concern when it came to defense. Seeing that all was well there he sought to look further afield, using the palantír to scan the lands of Anórien. The palantír deigned to reveal to him a lone rider making his way toward the Mering Stream and over the board to Rohan.

Upon closer inspection the rider looked to be a Ranger... but what would one of them be doing so far west, there were no companies assigned to that area as the borders with Rohan had never been an issue. Denethor looked deeper into the crystal and the image clarified further. That was no ordinary Ranger he was seeing. No, he knew that man instantly - it was that accursed Thorongil. Denethor started to turn from the palantír in disgust, caring not as long as the man left Gondor and never returned, but then he swore he could hear the cry of an infant emanating from the stone... surely that was not ordinary, for these stones were not meant to carry sound as well as sight, were they?

A knife of suspicion suddenly plunged deeply into Denethor and he grabbed the seeing stone from off of it's pedestal. But the orb would reveal no more and had gone dark and lifeless again. It left Denethor with an inkling that would not rest. He shook the globe forcefully but nothing happened. Enraged, he slammed it back onto its podium, not even scratching it. Oh, he would find out if his suspicion was true. He would revisit the secret chamber daily, several times a day if he had to, until the Elven ornament decided to work again. For now, he resigned himself to wait patiently and think of suitable punishments for anyone and everyone involved in this possible deception.

It had taken a week for the stone to come around and let him look into it again; a long week which Denethor had spent in one of the foulest moods any could remember him in. Even Boromir had been extraordinarily careful whenever his father would come to visit him in his nursery after supper. Instead of the loving smiles his father usually bestowed upon him, now there only critical, searching stares.

When he could again see into the stone, he could only see the focus of his hatred in shadowy figures. They were too far from the Anor stone and the strength of his will was not yet great enough to see clearly beyond his realm. He could tell that he was seeing Edoras and Rohan's court and he could tell that Thorongil held an infant - one of no more than two weeks, it looked to him.

That was all the proof Denethor needed. The next day he called for a riding party to make ready for an outing to the court of Rohan's king, intending to leave in no later than another two days. He felt certain that Théoden would not betray him and, upon hearing what the man had done, would promptly turn the villain over to his custody. After all, without Gondor, Rohan would be nothing.

Denethor made the plans for a ride to Rohan part of his daily report to his father, but said nothing of the reason. Ecthelion was more than suspicious, though he chose not to show it to his son. What business had Denethor going to Rohan when he could come into his inheritance at any time, Ecthelion wondered; for he knew he had not much life left in him and would have been dead already, but that he was still awaiting word of whether his son's wife would give birth to another grandson or a granddaughter. None had the heart to tell the ailing Steward anything of the pregnancy once it neared term, especially after the concern he had weathered at Boromir's birth, almost more afraid than the child's own father.

Ecthelion had not failed to note his son's ill mood recently and suspicion grew on him as well. The night before the party was to ride, the Steward had decided to sit by his window for a spell. When he saw a light glowing in the highest part of the tower, though, he knew at once that something troublesome was afoot. He cursed his fool son for making use of the ancient artifact that he had many times warned him against using. The Steward called for his personal attendant to take a message and to see that it was sent in _strictest_ confidentiality to King Théoden of Rohan with no delay whatsoever.

The next morning Ecthelion gave his blessing to his son before the departure. Though angry with Denethor for his folly he did not wish to be parted from his only child on bad terms, and so he made no mention of any such thing. He knew all too well that this couldbe their last parting. He watched the courtyard from his window, seeing his little grandson running to his father, begging to be allowed to go with him. It reminded him of another young heir who desperately wanted to be counted among Gondor's finest as soon as possible. The less than fond side of that memory was the sharp rebuke he'd issued his own son and very much regretted, and yet he saw it mirrored there in the courtyard below.

Ecthelion was unsettled and worried for his child, never before had he been so stern with Boromir before, in fact he usually spoiled the little one rotten. He hoped Denethor had not gotten into more than he could handle by using the Elven stone so frequently, and where exactly had he gone wrong in teaching Denethor the finer points of ruling, such as trusting in one's subordinates?

Mithrellas, being the shrewd woman she was, knew of the heir's intention to pay a visit to his ally to the north almost before his father knew. She, too, had been thinking of her own plan and thought this the perfect situation in which to implement it. She waited until Denethor had visited Finduilas to tell her that he would be leaving for Rohan on the morrow, then spoke of her idea to her dear friend.

"I know that your husband would never consent, Fin'," Mithrellas said, "but he will be gone for two weeks at the very least, and you know the Steward will agree. Lord Ecthelion likes you and he understands that you are suffering here. Finduilas, if you stay here any longer, you will not survive. This city is crushing you and i can no longer bear to see it."

"Rel', i can not," Finduilas said tiredly. "I can not just leave because Denethor is gone away. I do not love him, but i am bound to him and i can not change that now."

"Those are lies, Finduilas" Mithrellas replied emphatically. "We have been raised to believe that we must be good and obedient wives or we are worth nothing. That is _entirely_ false. You are not happy with him or with staying here and no one upon Arda can tell you that you must do so!"

"What about my Bori'?" Finduilas asked.

"Well, he shall come with us, of course! Do you not think that your brother would like to know what a fine little nephew he has?" she said convincingly.

"What i think is that you want an excuse to see again your lover in the service of my brother... the swan-standard bearer, was he not?" Finduilas teased. Mithrellas looked very serious when she said that that added bonus had only just crossed her mind. Finduilas knew better, but she also knew that this might be her only chance to go home again, to see again the waves on the sea and her own family. "What of a host?" she asked, warming to the idea more and more.

"The Steward would not begrudge us such protection. When Denethor leaves tomorrow, we shall go directly to the Steward and seek his permission to depart to Dol Amroth. I will begin packing tonight that we may be gone as soon as it is safe." Mithrellas sounded so triumphant. Long had she waited to find a way around Denethor and this was a golden opportunity.

ooo

_Ok, i know i am breaking my own rule about updating this and Shadows alternately, but this story was just begging to be written last night. I apologize to those of you who are dying for the next chapter in Shadows. It will be coming soon,my promise._

_Elenhin: Little Faramir is really charming. Let's just hope he can win over some other, tougher critics. I can assure you that the Lembas infusion is perfectly safe for Fara', that's Elf-magic for you! Thanks again for the backgrounds and mouse army tale. I must start work on my own soon... so much to write!_

_irene: Thanks for the review and thanks for reading. I'm very glad you are enjoying. I try to keep all my stories fresh, in some way different from the usual._

_Jenn: Thank you, also, for your review. More will come soon, this has been very enjoyable for me to write so far._

_Raksha: Oh, what will they think, indeed! That little trial will be coming up in the next chapter, which i hope to be able to write this weekend. We shall see._


	9. Influences

Aragorn stood before his father, accounting for all that had transpired since he left the service of Ecthelion. He spared no detail, he greatly respected Elrond even when he disagreed with him, and he knew how much the powerful Elf valued candor above pandering. He explained that he had come to be friends with Denethor's wife, since her lady-in-waiting and dearest friend had returned to her home to care for her ailing father.

He said that he had been given leave by the Steward and had taken it gratefully, but returned a little less than three years later when he received word that Ecthelion's health was failing. Though it was not exactly easy for him, he admitted that he had lain with Denethor's wife that night.

It was at that point that Elrond interrupted him, grilling him about the fact that he had learned of his daughter's betrothal three years _before_ this admitted adultery. Yet Aragorn remained unwavering - though he would admit to the mistake and admit that it _was_ a mistake, he would under no circumstances apologize for it, for in his mind that would mean apologizing for his son, something he would never do. He loved his child, no matter how he was gotten, and he would not ask anyone's pardon for that.

Aragorn tried to continue his tale but just then Arwen knocked at the door of her father's study. She smiled brightly when she saw him, but Elrond dashed from his desk to stand between them, fury flashing in his ancient eyes. He told her in no uncertain terms that the betrothal was to be abandoned at once and, at the look for devastated confusion in his daughter's eyes, he unkindly took Faramir from Aragorn's arms, showing her the proof of her lover's infidelity. She stared at Aragorn in utter anguish before fleeing from the room.

Elrond again turned to face the one he had raised as his son. There was no way to describe the ire radiating from the Elf-lord; it frightened Aragorn and he begged that his son not be harmed. Elrond merely shoved the screaming infant back into his father's arms, claiming that the ill-gotten wretch ought be cast into the Bruinen. Aragorn was then ordered to be gone from Imladris without delay and banished thenceforth.

As he numbly made his way away from the Last Homely House, Gilraen, his mother, ran out to him. At least there was one person left who would not judge him, he thought. But she did not embrace her son, instead asking how he could be so foolish, saying that he had disgraced her intolerably.

Aragorn wanted to cry, he felt so entirely broken, but he felt too empty to shed tears. It felt as though, with all those he had loved renouncing him, there was nothing at all left of him. He felt surreal and Faramir's cries seemed distant to him, as if even his child did not want to be near to him.

Aragorn woke suddenly in a cold sweat. All was dark about him and he realized that they were still on the road. The night was colder than he had expected but this far north, so near the mountains, the many visible stars only served to emphasize how chilly it was. Faramir lay sound asleep in Gandalf's arms, wrapped snugly in Elrohir's cloak.

Aragorn lay there awake, shivering, and wondering if anyone would actually miss him if he just left without saying anything. He did not know how to face the possibility that his dream would prove prophetic, that the ones he loved most would reject him. He tried his best to repress a sob at the thought, but failed.

Hearing his little brother's sadness, Elladan turned, reaching out to embrace Aragorn. Seeing how cold he was, Elladan took off his cloak and wrapped it around his beloved brother. "What is wrong, little Estel? We are nearly home now," Elladan whispered.

It was telling that Aragorn did not bristle at the pet name "little Estel" as he normally did, but only muttered in a choked voice that home, this time, was the problem.

"Whatever can you mean? All will be well once we are home, as it always is," Elladan assured.

Aragorn could not inhibit his tears longer and allowed himself the luxury of expression of grief as long as his brothers were close enough to protect him. "I dreamed, 'Dan... i dreamed father cast me out. Even my naneth...," he wept pitiably.

"Sidh, Estel," Elladan soothed. "You know by now how to understand your dreams. You are only afraid of that happening. Neither adar nor your naneth will ever abandon you, they love you immeasurably, just as 'Ro and i do... even if he is too impish to show it sometimes."

Aragorn could not help but laugh, it was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. His brothers always managed to cheer him up somehow.

"And anyway, even if adar does turn you out, you had better think twice if you think we would ever forsake you. We would wander the wild with you and Faramir if it came to that," Elrohir said, suddenly wide awake.

Mercifully, Aragorn found he was able to sleep the rest of the night, assured of his brothers' support, if naught else. The next day they were on the road again, drawing ever nearer to Imladris's borders. There might be a camp again tonight, but it was rather likely that if they would simply ride on for a few extra hours into the dark, the borders would be reached and then all could rest in comfort. It was that afternoon, when the twins rode ahead to scout, that Gandalf rode up beside Aragorn and said, "And for my part, should Elrond do anything so foolish as to send you away, he will have the rough end of my staff to deal with!"

Aragorn managed a little smile, it was heartening to know that there were those who would remain at his side. And yet, he begged the Valar that he would not lose those he loved most over this. They were drawing ever nearer, the land around them was already so familiar. Aragorn tried to focus his thoughts on how he would explain this situation, but gave up as it only served to tighten the knot deep inside him. He held his little Faramir close and renewed his vow to keep him safe, at all costs.

ooo

Denethor steadily lead his troop across Anorien. Being a plate-armor-and-pavilion type of soldier, he guessed the trip would take about two weeks, but it was no matter to him how long it took to hunt down Thorongil. He guessed that the Ranger would take rest at Edoras and if he did not catch him there it was no matter, for surely Théoden would point him in the right direction. Thorongil had been a rueful thorn in his side since he came to Gondor, but this time Denethor meant to make him see how it was to be less than faultless.

The Steward's heir had set out on the hunt nearly one week after Finduilas had been delivered, at the time that Aragorn had just arrived in Edoras. With a two week journey ahead of the pursuers, it left an unwitting Aragorn only just enough time to get out of Rohan before Denethor would arrive there. But Aragorn had on his side a wily old Wizard who often knew much more than he let on... unfortunately, this time the same could be said of another Wizard who intended to aid Denethor along.

ooo

_Ok, so it seems i am updating at random now. Such is the muse :)_

_liz: Oh, Aragorn has a fallible side all right! Mithrellas is a little... headstrong, shall we say. But she is more practical in her ways than Eowyn often seems to be. Mithrellas is just not afraid to stand up to authority if she has a cause to. But, we shall have to see what the effect of that is going to be._

_Elenhin: I guess one never knows what i will be updating next (not even me), so here again is an update for this one. I hope to (maybe) finish Shadows this weekend. Enjoy!_


	10. From Father to Son

It was as evening began to fall and the sun made the leaves of summer seem to glow. Glorfindel had made himself comfortable for the evening on a high branch to keep his "patrol." In another tree not far away was Gildor Inglorion who was staying in the House of Elrond for a time and was more than happy to venture out on patrols. It was Gildor who first caught the sound of a group approaching. They had been expecting the twins to be back soon, but it sounded to his ears as if there was more than two horses and he definitely heard distinct footsteps.

Moving swiftly and lightly through the branches, to the point that one would mistake him for a Silvan instead of a High Elf of the Noldorim, Gildor came up to Glorfindel, finding that the Vanya likely did not hear the footsteps because he was dozing. Gildor had the urge to push him off the branch, but decided the better punishment would be to inform Erestor of this lapse when they returned. When he finally managed to rouse the Balrog-slayer he pointed out into the distance, saying, "something Mortal this way comes."

Leaping from tree to tree together they moved toward the path to meet the newcomers. Hopping down into the road, they were pleased to meet not only the twins, but also Gandalf and Estel. Customary greetings were exchanged all around, then Elladan said, "Well, we have gotten you to safety, yet again, little brother. Can we trust you to get home from here while we finish some business?"

Aragorn looked curious as to why they were suddenly rushing off again, but such was the way of the twins. They went off with Gildor discussing the pursuit of the orcs and Aragorn, Gandalf, and Glorfindel carried onward. "I did not expect to see you here, Estel. What manner of ill news of the rest or Arda do you bring now?" Glorfindel said teasingly.

"Some things ought not be spoken of freely even here, Master Glorfindel," Gandalf chimed in before Aragorn could say aught.

The Man was feeling too tired to give much of a response anyway. "Will you hold him a moment while i remount?" Aragorn said to Gandalf, laying his little Faramir in his friend's arms. Glorfindel walked on oblivious to the child who had come as well, he figured Estel was asking Mithrandir to hold the horse still. Aragorn had only been walking to try to release some of his own nervous energy and because Faramir had been fussing and walking usually calmed him down. It just so happened that Glorfindel turned around to ask Gandalf something just as the Wizard was gently laying the infant into his father's arms again. The Elf very nearly tripped over a tree root in the road. "Where did that come from?" he said astonished.

"From his mother's womb," Gandalf replied tetchily. He was in no mood for anyone upsetting Estel at the moment, it had been week's since he'd had a nice meal and a comfortable bed and his supply of pipeweed had diminished weeks ago.

Glorfindel was about to ask how he'd gotten from the womb to Estel's arms, but thought better of it considering Gandalf's present ill-humor. He only hoped that the child was a foundling, if Estel had fathered that child... well, he did not want to think of Elrond's sword getting any more practice than it did against his own blade in spars.

As they came to the ford, the loud rushing of the Bruinen upset Faramir and he began to cry. Night had fallen by then and Aragorn was a little nervous of attempting to ford the river in the dark. "Perhaps we should camp here tonight and cross come morning," he said uneasily, knowing his true apprehension lay beyond the ford.

"No, Aragorn, i think it best if you and Faramir get yourselves a proper rest and meal as soon as you may," Gandalf countered, knowing full well that Aragorn's main reason for procrastination was his concern over how his child would be received. Both of them were immensely glad that Glorfindel did not pry any further, but Gandalf also knew that it would do no one any favors to put off bringing the matter to Elrond's attention.

And so it was that at Gandalf's insistence the ford was crossed and they carried on along the path and eventually up the long stairs that took them up the moors onto the plateau that was Rivendell. After a long and arduous two months, Aragorn had finally managed to get himself and his child to their destination. Two months ago when he had to steal a horse to get out of Minas Tirith and across the Pelennor, he thought that when he was finally within the safe borders of Imladris he would feel relief; instead all he felt was worry, the same as it had been since his son was born. Aragorn wondered if he would spend the rest of his days worrying about his child.

They all dismounted before the stone bridge and walked their mounts over. The Last Homely House glowed with the lights in the windows and looked so comforting. They walked up the stairs and were in the courtyard. Aragorn thought of all the times he had been here previously and could not understand why he felt so afraid now. This was his home, the one place he should feel the most comfortable. Glorfindel quickly offered to take their horses to the stables when he saw Erestor come out on the porch, likely having been disturbed from some late-night work in which he ordinarily engaged.

"Mithrandir? Estel! What brings you here at this late hour?" Erestor said, sounding genuinely surprised, which was odd, for Erestor was scarcely ever surprised by anything. "What am i saying? Of course i know why you are here! By Elbereth, Estel, you look exhausted. Come on and get some rest, we can talk in the morning," he carried on, suddenly switching into hospitable-Erestor mode and ushering them both inside at once.

"Erestor, please wait," Aragorn insisted. "I need to see my father, tell me he is still awake?"

"Aye, he is, Estel, but perhaps now is not..." Erestor replied, hedging a bit. It had been a difficult day for Elrond and it seemed to his eyes that both of them needed their rest more than a chat. "Then again, he would be glad to see you. Yes, he is in his study at the moment. Is something wrong, is there ill news that we are not aware of here? Where are the twins?"

Aragorn looked ready to cry, he wished everyone would stop delaying him, he just needed to get this over with as soon as possible. "Naught is wrong, it is just that i need to...," he sighed, "i need my father, that is all."

Erestor was not easy put off though, he and Estel had been close since the Mortal was two years old. "Estel...," Erestor prodded, putting a hand on his erstwhile apprentice's shoulder. Erestor could often sense the presence of others and he knew that it was not just Estel, Mithrandir, and himself there in the foyer outside the Hall of Fire. As usual, Erestor was not surprised when Estel pulled back his cloak to show the little one laying there asleep again in a sling given to him in Rohan, which was much more comfortable than the one he'd fashioned extemporaneously out in the wild.

Erestor wore a little smile that was rarely seen on him, in fact Aragorn was one of the only people upon Arda who had ever seen the soft side of the serious Chief Councilor. Erestor sighed. "I suppose you do need your adar, i was going to attempt to dissuade you, but this is important. Is this little lad your own?"

"Aye, he is," Aragorn said, sounding almost defensively. A momentary feeling of shame swept him as Erestor's eyes held his before he broke the contact.

"You should be proud of him, Estel, he is beautiful," Erestor encouraged. "We will talk later if you wish. You go on and i will see your rooms prepared. You will sleep better once you have a nice soothing bath."

Aragorn felt at least a little better, knowing that astute Erestor, one of his dearest friends since he could remember, did not disapprove of him and Faramir. Gandalf, too, was on his side, and that comforted him as well. As he walked toward his father's study, Gandalf clasped his shoulder, looked him deep in the eye, and said, "Remember, Aragorn, he may be the great Lord Elrond Peredhel, but i have seen things he had only dreamt of." The twinkle in the Maia's eye spoke of things too awesome for Aragorn to even try to conceive of, but he knew what his old friend meant.

Aragorn stood before the door to his father's study. He took several breaths before knocking softly. It felt like an eternity until he heard his father's voice say, "edro!"

"Estel! Welcome home, ion-nín," Elrond said, beaming to see his youngest enter.

"Mae govannen, adar," Aragorn said with a nod of deference.

"My son, what troubles you?" Elrond said in concern, rising from behind his desk. Usually Estel was thrilled to be home, and yet he had not expected his arrival and Elrond wondered what of all the many things could be wrong.

"Much troubles me father, but it is of no matter. We need your help," he said. At the questioning look in his father's eye, he did not just pull back his cloak, but removed it altogether. At some point on the ride in he realized that he was not only using the cloak to shield his son from the elements, but also to hide him from other's eyes. He resolved that he would never again do that, for he was not ashamed of his child and never would be.

Elrond's breath hitched as his eyes traveled from the sleeping infant up to his son's pleading gaze. There was a look something akin to disbelief in the Elf's eyes. "This... this is your child, Estel?"

"Aye, his name is Faramir," Aragorn said, standing proudly.

Behind Elrond's grey eyes there was a maelstrom of emotions. He said nothing but stood staring at the two Mortals. Aragorn felt brought quickly from pride in his son to disgrace of his own actions in the moment of scrutiny. Elrond shut his eyes and his fingers sought out his already aching temples. His attention then seemed to focus outside the window, Elrond's way of composing himself. He walked back to his desk and sat down before he again glanced up at his son. His jaw was tightly set, but he managed to say, "How did this happen?" with at least some degree of calmness.

"Father, i do not know -" Aragorn began before Elrond spoke again.

"Estel, just answer me," he said with a warning tone.

"Aye, adar," he said obediently, feeling more like a child than a grown man of more than half a century in age. "I- i made a mistake," he began plaintively. "I made a mistake, what i did was wrong of me, but i will not apologize for it, for i will not apologize for my son. I never once had the intention of bedding -"

"Estel! I care not what intentions you _had_, nor do i expect an explicit explanation of this child's conception. As a healer and father of three i am well aware of the mechanics of getting children. What i want to know is why you have this child here - where is his mother and how in the name of Elbereth did you manage to get him here?"

At that Aragorn felt immense relief that he did not have to explain his actions, yet. He would have been terribly humiliated to admit to Elrond, whom he called father, not so much his actions as much as the fact that he failed in loyalty and faltered to a mostly Mortal weakness. "His mother, as far as i know, is in Minas Tirith," he said simply.

"As far as you know?" Elrond asked with a raised brow.

"She put forth much exertion in his birth. It was energy that she did not have to begin with," Aragorn said. "Finduilas was from Dol Amroth and living on the edge of the Shadow of Mordor was a terrible strain on her, but he would never let her return to her home to get well. She has not much life left to live."

Fortunately, Elrond was calming down rather rapidly. "Who never let her return home?" he asked.

"Her husband, Denethor."

"Husband?" Elrond said, again raising a brow. "Very well...," he said, resting his aching head in his hand. "That still does not explain why _you_ have this child here. How old is he?"

"_His_ name is Faramir, as i have already told you," Aragorn said, annoyed that his father seemed to refuse to speak the name. "He is two months old, and i-"

"Two months? It must have taken you that long to get from Minas Tirith to here. Ai, Estel, tell me not that you took this- took Faramir," he corrected himself at Aragorn's glare, "from his mother as soon as he was born?"

"Do you wish to hear my explanation or not, father?" Aragorn said, his tone of voice rising.

Elrond sighed, realizing he was interrupting before any answers were given. "You have my apology. Please continue."

"Thank you," Aragorn said with a nod. "Finduilas did not believe that her husband would be fooled that Faramir was not his, she has reason to believe that he uses the palantír in the Citadel. She did not want him to be subjected to such scorn and begged that i take him and give him a father's love. I did not want to at first, i had no idea how i would ever get him here, but now i know that i could not have had it any other way. Had i left him there i would have regretted it forever. I vowed to his mother that i would keep him safe and happy and that he would learn. Father... please..."

Elrond's temper had softened greatly. "Estel," he said shaking his head wearily, "how has this child survived? Is he even well?"

"By the grace of the Valar alone have been able to feed my son," Aragorn whispered. "I had hoped you would help him and make sure that he is well. These last few days all i have had to give him was a lembas solution. 'Dan sprinkled some crumbs into fresh water and he drank as they dissolved. It has seemed to keep him happy, though. The rest of the time i sought out wet-nurses from village to village. It has been extraordinarily difficult and more than once i wanted to turn back, to leave him in safer hands than my own, but i could not, father. I could not be parted from him and i know i have probably endangered him terribly, but i would die for my son."

"So what you are telling me is that you have not once done what you knew to be best for Faramir, but what your heart told you was best?" Elrond asked with an poignant grin.

Aragorn just nodded. "I understand if you no longer want me here, but i no longer know if i must beg you to at least shelter my son or not to separate us."

Elrond rose and came to stand in front of his son again. Where had he gone wrong if the thought that he would ever abandon his Mortal child had even crossed Estel's mind? "Estel," he began softly, a hand on his son's cheek, as much to comfort him as noting how undernourished he was. Just then Faramir began to cry and Aragorn almost reflexively reached for the little bottle he kept in his coat pocket. Elrond sighed and stepped back a bit. "That mixture is actually quite good for him. It will not harm him at all," Elrond said distractedly. "Do you have any idea what you have gotten yourself into?"

Aragorn looked up from Faramir just momentarily. "No. But i am learning."

Elrond just shook his head. "Estel, never would i turn you out and you know that. Every time you leave here it is by your choice. This is a grave situation, all the same, and it will demand much from you. Can you understand this commitment that is required?"

"I understand that i would do anything for my Faramir, that i will never abandon him, and that, likely, i will never cease to worry about him," Aragorn said.

At that Elrond smiled sadly again. "Aye, Estel, that is fatherhood. There is more to your particular situation though. You know that i will never turn you out, however, i shall still expect of you to offer a satisfactory explanation to others whom this effects and to abide by whatever... verdict said parties may reach."

Aragorn understood at once, for it was going to be the next hardest trial for him to explain this to Arwen. For over 30 years he had adored her with every fiber of his begin and it ached so to think that one failure on his part could destroy that. "Where is she?" he asked softly.

"She was in the garden this evening. However, i do not want you to approach her tonight," he said solemnly. "This is best left until the light of day. As a healer, i must demand that you bathe and sleep tonight. If you see Erestor he will help you with sleeping appointments for Faramir. Do i make myself clear?"

"Aye, adar," Aragorn said and turned to go, much relieved, but still a little ill at ease.

"Estel," Elrond called out just as he was at the door. "I love you, my son."

Aragorn smiled, but it was an almost grim smile. "And i love Faramir," he said with all seriousness.

ooo

_An extra long update as a peace-offering for all the time it has taken me to update. Many apologies!_

_AM: Well, at least the real confrontation wasn't nearly as terrible as what poor Aragorn dreamed. As for poxing Wizards... we shall soon see._

_sidhe: Last chapter was interesting to write and was really the whole reason i wanted the twins to escort Aragorn and Faramir with Gandalf. He needs as much support as he can get right now._

_linda: I agree, in one way it rather does come down to Elrond in the end. He may be seeing that now, but i think Elrond has more fears than he lets on._

_Raksha: Aragorn's explanation to his beloved coming up in the next chapter. Of course we know that Elrond would never do anything so terrible was what happened in Aragorn's dream last chapter, but fear and the pysche do things like that to one, especially during the night._

_Elenhin: I think i successfully managed to scare everyone with that dream last chapter. Love to mix things up a bit every now and then :) And so, Faramir's reign of terror in Imladris will begin soon, just as Estel's had. Though it will be some while before he gets mobile, and by then i am sure everyone will adore him... until he gets a hand in their hair that is :)_

_Thank you all for your patience!_


	11. Aided Escapes

_Minas Tirith_

Mithrellas scarcely waited for Denethor and his company to cross the Pelennor before dragging Finduilas directly to Ecthelion. Suddenly harboring many doubts and second-thoughts, Finduilas tried to dissuade her closest friend, but she would have none of it. She even insisted that she be allowed to do the talking, for, as she claimed, Finduilas was much too weary to be troubled so.

In these days it was known that the Steward kept to his private chambers when there was not some official business to preside over, and even then he often delegated such things to Denethor. Ecthelion was facing old age and was now ironically hindered by the fact that he was at one time so often far-afield. So it was that Finduilas and Mithrellas went to the Steward's chambers at once.

Ecthelion was surprised to see Lady Mithrellas, but he was downright shocked to see his son's wife. No one had brought him any word regarding her pregnancy, yet here she stood, looking gaunt as ever she had since arriving in the accursed White City. It angered the Steward to think that his own son considered that since his knees no longer worked properly the same could be said of his mind. And yet, he had to admit that it was utterly evident who had raised Denethor and it was obviously not his mother, the official one or the biological one.

Mithrellas started to speak on Finduilas's behalf, but she could not allow it. She dearly loved her friend, but knew of her impulsiveness and Finduilas felt that if she was to escape Minas Tirith, for a time, it ought to be done gently. She simply asked the Steward's permission to go for a visit, a holiday, to her kin in Dol Amroth and for a small protection escort. Ecthelion saw nothing amiss with that request and when he heard that Finduilas has "lost" the child she carried, he took great pity on her and granted her his personal escort, replete with his own pavilion, who, as he said, were only "collecting dust like the rest of the relics in this city."

The next day the party set out toward Dol Amroth by the sea, the two women riding in a coach, and Gondor's favorite son having the thrill and honor of his young life to have gotten his mother's permission to ride, at least at the outset, with one of the soldiers who was delighted to allow the little Lord to ride with him. Finduilas spent much of the ride praying that the Valar would protect her sons, both of them, and wondering if she would even make it to Dol Amroth, let alone ever return to Minas Tirith.

ooo

_Edoras_

The messenger who had been sent out by Ecthelion ahead of his mistrustful son kept back in the stables when he saw Lord Denethor enter the city. He doubted that the heir to the Stewardship would have recognized him but for his black livery which stood out amongst the Rohirrim. Still, Ecthelion had warned him about keeping his distance from Denethor and the young man had no intention of testing either lord. As soon as the heir had been led into the Golden Hall, the messenger set out for home again.

Théoden took it under advisement from Ecthelion's message that for whatever reason, the Steward of Gondor did not want his son to meet up with Thorongil, who had only just departed with the Grey Pilgrim early that morning. Théoden, for his part, was friendly to Thorongil and had helped him and his son in their time of need. He felt he could waylay Denethor easily enough for the man who had served his father so faithfully.

Much to his annoyance, Denethor found himself swept up in courtly greetings and cordialities that Rohan was not truly renowned for. There was the insistence by several ladies of the court that he rest and wash and join them at supper before even thinking of approaching the king. There were captains of Rohan who insisted that the Gondorian lord come for an evening ride with them after supper. Even little Théodred got in on the act by politely asking the Steward's heir to help him with his "sword-work" since he was sure that a "real soldier" could out-spar any horse-lord. Even Théoden was highly impressed with his son's little speech, considering the fact that most of the Rohirrim actually considered their way of life much superior to Gondorian ways and the little prince was unbelievably patriotic for one so young.

The next day came around and it just so happened that Théoden had called an emergency council that ended up locked away in the hall from just after breakfast until supper. The servers fuming about having the hall closed to even them until the "council" was concluded and having to rush to get the room ready for a meal. In the end, Denethor had been in residence at Meduseld for a solid three days before he actually got anywhere near the King of Rohan. Even when he did get to Theoden, it was to no avail, for Théoden simply said that he had not seen the Ranger Thorongil in quite some years and probably would not even recognize him if he did.

Denethor was frustrated to say the least. He knew Thorongil had been in Edoras, the palantír had shown it and the Elven orb did not lie! Furthermore, he knew that there was a babe and he was convinced that the child was his, stolen from his own wife. He vowed that he would hang the nurse who sent his son away and told Finduilas that he had not lived, for so he thought it to be. On the morning of the fifth day since his arrival, Denethor prepared to leave to return home and seek justice there instead. He knew well that he could not go chasing after that treacherous Ranger without even an idea of where he might have gone, and besides, he did not need another son when he already had his heir. Likely the little runt would have caused him naught but disgrace anyhow.

It was in the stables as Denethor and his company was ready to go that the odd and eerie little man who hung about Théoden's court found the heir to the Stewardship. Gríma spoke to Denethor of a Dunedan Ranger who had spent two weeks in Meduseld with an infant who was lovingly suckled by Eomund's wife, the King's sister. He told him that the Ranger had left only just that same day that Denethor arrived, with the Wizard Gandalf, and had been going northwest. Denethor wasted not another moment, surprising his men when he charged off in the opposite direction from home.

ooo

_So now i am back to updating this regularly. I started writing a little extension of the Glor/Ere story i started in Ripples of Chaos, to be called Waves of Chaos, which will be about Erestor leaving Middle-earth and Glor staying behind._

_Elenhin: I am glad you have not given up despite all the trouble the site has been putting up! I have to wonder if little Faramir will be able to put up so much trouble, but with his curious nature, it probably won't be too difficult for him._

_AM: Arwen's reaction coming up next. I wonder if it will be what manner expect..._

_linda: Who can possibly guess what Elrond is thinking at any given moment? I'm writing this and i can't! I think Aragorn is going to turn out to be a great dad, he's got a good start anyway._


	12. Eyes in a Moon of Blindness

Aragorn left his father's study feeling at least somewhat relieved that his father did not despise him, though the fact that Elrond was less than happy was rather clear. As Aragorn thought about it, he regretted not suggesting that Elrond hold Faramir, as that seemed to cause everyone to fall in love with him instantly. At the moment, though, he was tired, hungry, and all he really wanted was...

"Arwen?" That very likeness of Luthien by the garden door could be no other.

"Aragorn!" she said with a beautiful, almost shy smile, the one that made Aragorn melt. Her eyes glimmered with her joy to see him and she glowed, more than usual. "I thought i heard Erestor speaking to you, but i did not believe that it could be you, no matter how i hoped to see you again."

For a few moments Aragorn was rendered speechless and motionless. It was always so when he was in Arwen's presence and he had a feeling he would never get over it. He managed to compose himself enough for a half bow and a softly spoken, "my lady."

"Who is this child you hold?" she asked, sounding more curious than accusatory.

If anything, that ached Aragorn all the more. And yet, glancing at his quiet little boy, he felt as though he wanted to introduce his son to the world. Just looking at Faramir made him so very proud. "This is Faramir, my son," he said evenly, looking up slowly to meet Arwen's eyes and begging the Valar that he would not find devastation there. He had not mentally worked on this introduction long enough and suddenly he remembered Elrond's words, "i do not want you to approach her tonight." Yet, he could not simply tell his beloved that this would be discussed on the morrow, not now, and... gods! If she would only respond and break the silence!

For a moment Arwen stood wordless. Had Aragorn just said that this infant was his son? Her heart beat fast and she felt tense, as if some great fear was on her. Fear it was, fear that though they had been properly betrothed for three years, her lover had changed his mind and taken another for his wife. In that moment she found it difficult to breathe and more difficult to reject the tears that tore at her throat until the truth of situation was plain. In that moment, she struggled to hold her heart together, refusing to allow it to break so easily after so many years of waiting.

In that moment, Aragorn clearly saw all of her heartache mirrored in her beautiful eyes and it could have crushed him. "Arwen," he whispered, "come and talk with me, i beg you."

She hesitated slightly, not wanting to hear that the years had grown too many for him and he had chosen another, and yet craving to hear that he loved her, no matter the circumstance. In the end, her hope won out and she went with Aragorn to the chambers that had been accorded to him since his first day in Rivendell half a century ago.

Aragorn gently lay his restful son down in the cradle that Erestor had placed there beside his bed. It was the first time that Faramir had ever had proper sleeping accommodations of his own and Aragorn marveled at that fact. Oh, but he was sick to death of living like a beggar when he was allegedly supposed to be the King of Gondor and Arnor. His son deserved a better life than this self-imposed exile of his. And, he told himself, his adored Arwen deserved better than his behavior. Aragorn began to feel self-doubt coursing through him again and wondered how many more people he could let down before his days were ended.

Proud of his son and disgraced of himself, Aragorn walked back into his sitting room where Arwen waited, so beautiful, for him to sit beside her. He did not, instead kneeling before her. "You do not deserve this, Arwen," he said sadly. "You do not deserve a man who cannot even remain true without losing heart and control and giving in to pity and his own... Gods!" he cried of frustration.

"What are you saying?" she gasped. "If you are trying to dissuade me, to make me think that it was my idea to leave you, it will not work."

"No, i am not trying to dissuade you. I love you. But i am no longer worthy of your love, and you can not waste your choice on me," he said, looking up into her eyes. "I am sorry, Arwen, though i do not expect you to forgive me." His voice was a mere whisper.

"Who has told you these things?" she asked, no longer seated, but now kneeling with him. "Aragorn, i do not know how love works in Mortal realms, but i do not love lightly. If love only sees one's actions, and not into one's heart and the beauty of one's fëa, then it can not be love."

Arwen never once failed to amaze Aragorn. Her compassion was as boundless as her beauty. "Mela-nín," he said, taking ragged breaths, "only tell me that i have not already lost you and i _will_ earn your trust." The downright dejection he was feeling could not be hidden in his grey eyes and it cut Arwen to the quick to so much as think of him hurting like that,though much worse was the thought of him doubting himself so.

"Aragorn," she said wrapping her arms around him and holding him close, "you have not lost me, and nor have you lost my trust. _Le melin, le estelin_," she said, her dulcet intonation soothing Aragorn as he melted into her embrace, permitting his tears to be shed as he felt flooded with relief. "Never think that i shall give up on you, mela, never. And do not disbelieve in yourself so. I love you, Aragorn, and naught shall change that. If you want to know, more than anything, i am just glad that you are well. How many nights i have lain alone worrying for you i can not count."

It was what he had needed for the last two months. No longer did he feel alone in the world, left to struggle to help his infant son in every desperate way that he could. Aragorn felt safe again, at home again, and more than anything, he felt loved again. He had needed to be held and comfortedas much as Faramir needed those things from him. So often Aragorn worried about replenishing the supplies of milk that he gave his son to drink, but only now did he see that what had been most neglected was his supply of love and comfort which he needed to receive as well as give on to his baby boy.

Suddenly surrounded by the warmth of Elven love, Aragorn found himself lolling to sleep in his beloved's beautiful arms. Arwen pressed a kiss to his temple which somehow migrated to his lips, bringing him instantly back to a state of wakefulness. "How can i ever thank you?" he whispered, but another kiss was the only reply he received.

Arwen pulled back a bit, looking deeply into his eyes, into his very soul,and smiling knowingly. "Your heart is beautiful, Aragorn." Gracefully she rose and he followed her out of automatic adoration. "Did Erestor not draw you a bath?" she said sweetly.

Aragorn thought for a moment before saying only, "likely." He supposed it would do him a lot of good, but he hated to leave his Faramir unattended, especially in case he happened to fall asleep in the bath as tended to happen when Erestor used oils in the water to make him sleep soundly at night.

"I will watch over Faramir, if you wish," she offered, almost chilling him as she seemed to read his mind.

"I do wish and i appreciate it more than i can tell you," he said, leaning in for another kiss.

She blocked his advance though with a light laugh. "No, you go and bathe. Faramir and i will sit out on your balcony. And when you have finished your bath, assuming you do not fall asleep and let the water go cold through the night, you should take to your bed. I will bring Faramir back in when you are already asleep and see that he is comfortable."

"I would be a lost man without you, Undomiel," Aragorn conceded with a smile before heading to that deep, hot bath waiting for him around the partition.

"Not as lost as i would be without you, Estel-nín," Arwen whispered in reply, gently picking up a sleeping Faramir and becoming captivated of the peaceful one at once.

ooo

_Le melin, le estelin - This is an approximation on my part for "i love you, i trust you."_

_I trust the rest of the Elvish is self-explanatory? If not, don't hesitate to yell at me for being presumptuous. Sometimes i know these things and i figure they've been used so many time, so others must know too._

_Elenhin: I am very glad that you won't give up, without reviews i fear i would wither. It shouldn't be too long now before Faramir starts growing up. First we have to get through Denethor charging after them, though. That should be in the next chapter. And of course i shall need to check in on little Boromir and his mumma. I wish we could strangle Grima, but alas, we have to wait a number of years until the Hobbits overthrow Sharkey._

_grumpy: Grima is always causing trouble, but he is not nearly as skilled at trouble-causing as a certain pair of Elveswho shall temporarily remain nameless._

_linda: Denethor is indeed on the warpath, but we shall have to see what he meets along that path. And it is indeed a good thing that Fin and Bor are getting away, at least for a while._

_Is it hideously confusing to anything that every time i switch back to Denethor/Finduilas for a chapter i go back in time by a few weeks? I mean, you all get it, right, that Denethor is really only like three or four days behind Aragorn and Faramir?_


	13. Pursuit

The journey from Minas Tirith to Dol Amroth would take longer than it would take for Denethor and his riders to get to Edoras. Finduilas knew that Denethor had gone after Thorongil and her little Faramir and she only begged that the gods would somehow protect them. Denethor did not know that he had no right to lay a hand on the infant, Finduilas had him convinced that the child she carried was to be Denethor's second-born. Indeed, there was no one else who knew the truth but Mithrellas and Thorongil himself, and "two may keep counsel when the third's away."

Her greatest fear was not so much that Thorongil could be caught with any ease, she knew better than to fear for a Ranger in the wild, but more that somehow Denethor would learn that the baby was not his, for that would bring peril to them all. Finduilas tried not to think on these matters overmuch, though, and Mithrellas was invaluable in keeping her distracted, as was Gondor's finest little soldier.

At every halt Boromir would switch between riding in the carriage with his mumma and riding with Lorindol, the soldier who had rather adopted Boromir on the excursion south, letting him ride with him and telling him of all the things he had done over the years as a soldier for Gondor. Whenever Boromir would ride in the carriage he mostly napped, curled up on his mumma's lap, or talked excitedly about all the things Lorindol had told him.

Traveling was never easy, especially not when traveling with a young, rambunctious child and his mother who was not a well woman. They were given more than generous supplies and graciously accommodated for a couple nights by Lord Forlong of Lossarnach, who had always thought the world of Boromir and spoilt him rotten every time he visited Minas Tirith. Traveling under the banner of the Steward made finding suitable resting much easier and pavilions only had to be used between large towns. It was learned quickly that Finduilas had no qualms about staying in a simple little inn in some village rather than camping outside the town. Always had she been a woman of the people and for it they treated her as they would a queen. She was well loved even by people who had only heard about her, and people went out of their way to help her and ease her road home.

It was after their first week of travel, after they forded the River Gilrain in Lebinnen, that Finduilas realized that she was no longer constantly worried and afraid, that she was feeling much better, sleeping well at night, and no longer feeling perpetually exhausted and less than hungry when offered a meal. As she looked north to the high crests of the White Mountains, she came to the conclusion that it was not only how distant she was from the Shadow of Mordor, but also the fact that all those invulnerable peaks were now serving as a barrier between her and her husband. Denethor's mere presence made her uneasy these days and she realized that she no longer wanted anything to do with him. She had known it for some time, but never permitted herself to own up to it; and even that night she spent with Thorongil she knew that it was normal for men of status to lay with another woman, but not for women of status to lay with another man. She wondered now why she never had the courage to leave Minas Tirith sooner.

Mithrellas saw the change in her dear friend as well and she wondered why she had not insisted that Finduilas and Boromir come home with her when she returned to Dol Amroth to care for her ailing father. That would have prevented this entire situation in the first place.

ooo

Denethor kept his men riding at a grueling pace for two days and they had only just exited the Gap of Rohan. Denethor did not like the feeling he had as they crossed at the Fords of the Isen, it felt as though he was being watched, though there was no one about but his company. He felt as though the River Isen itself, or perhaps it was Dol Baran or even the last peak of Misty Mountains, Methedras, watching him.

It never entered Denethor's mind that it was the White Wizard was watching him closely, having become interested in the doings of his city since he was able to access its palantír through the one at Orthanc. The most recent report from his eyes and ears at Edoras told Saruman that there was intrigue running high in the world of Men these days and he was most interested in the Ranger who was alone with an infant child and heading north with speed, pursued by the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor himself.

Though by far the most interesting fact was that this Ranger was accompanied and abetted by none other than Gandalf the Grey. It seemed to Saruman that Gandalf was ever involved with shepherding and concealing secret things and he intended to keep a closer eye on his fellow Istar.

For the time being, though, Gríma had done more than enough for him by sending Ecthelion's heir after the Ranger and Gandalf. Knowing what he knew about Denethor, he was fairly sure that if the Steward-to-be caught up with them with the belief that the infant was his, there would be Mordor to pay. Saruman was more than content to sit back and watch the world of Men unravel itself.

As Denethor changed on through the foothills of the Misty Mountains in the land of Dunland, his heavy-horse riders effectively tamed the Dunlendings that might have objected to strangers. There had been reports of a Ranger with an infant and an elderly man traveling through their lands several days prior, but no one in the villages had seen them and no one reported any disturbances.

At one point Denethor sent scouts ahead to track and make their ride more efficient, for Denethor wanted to get his hands on Thorongil as soon as possible. It would not be easy for him to keep from killing the bastard with his own bare hands, but he knew it would be much more gratifying to drag him back to Minas Tirith in chains, try him for treason, and watch as he was tortured to death.

The scouts, however, did not seem to have an easy time of it. It should have been easy to trace two laden horses going north, but there seemed to be conflicting signs every time they thought they hit upon a lead. What they could tell, though, was that those conflicting signs had been made less than a week ago. With that information Denethor insisted that they move faster, stop less, and shorten their night camps. He was staunchly determined to catch up to them before they reached any manner of civilization.

Many of the men in Denethor's company did not understand their captain's strange mood and it seemed to them that it was only getting worse the further north they went. Some of them complained (very quietly) that they were being dragged all over Middle-earth, away from their wives and children, and other, more important duties, upon the whim of the heir to the Stewardship. Others were critical of the fact that Denethor hastened away from the city with both his father and wife so unwell. Some figured that they were out here after a fugitive, but could not understand why they, of all, had to take on this sort of mission that ordinarily reserved for lesser companies.

They had been on the road for weeks and, according to the scouts, were starting to gain ground on the two horsemen. They were now in the area of the three high peaks of the Misty Mountains, an area of which these soldiers knew little but what childhood tales told and some did not even know those tales. Denethor knew more than he let on though, he knew Hollin, Eregion, had once been a land of the Elves, but that they had retreated to one little nook in a valley of the Bruinen. From the signals that could be discerned, it seemed to him that Thorongil and Gandalf were heading for the House of Elrond Peredhel indeed, and it seemed that they were now only about three days behind their quarry.

It was the next day when the signs grew extraordinarily interesting. That morning they found orc carcasses all over the place. That afternoon, hurrying away from the foul death, it was found that one set of tracks seemed to circumvent the fray whilst one remained and was joined by another two sets of horse tracks. Yet there were at least 50 dead orcs and no one could figure out how it was possible that three had brought down that many. The three sets of tracks then went off, north again, and joined up with the set of tracks that had absconded during the fight, and on they carried northward. Then it seemed that the traces grew fainter, but no less fresh, the further north they went.

Denethor was well familiar with maps and knew that as the space between the Bruinen and the Mountains narrowed, they were coming closer to the secret home of the Elves. It was said that it was nearly impossible for strangers to find hidden in the river valley, but Denethor cared little for such nonsense lore, he was much too close to give up now. Had he had any inkling of what awaited him, he would most definitely have turned back.

ooo

_linda: Arwen really does have much goodness in her and it is a good thing that she does. I have come to learn that it takes strength to accept that kind of thing, but more over, if love is strong enough, it won't really matter. I've been there (in a way), my heart has gone through a lot, but i have learned how stong my heart really is and have not regretted a second of it. I think you did read and review Im Meleth Le, but that was based on an encounter i had almost 8 eight months ago (it still feels like yesterday), and just goes to show that i still love him with all of my heart, no matter what he has dealt with in his own past. Love can heal in amazing ways._

_Elenhin: Forward in time, you say? That is tricky. Back in time and you pretty much know what to expect, but going ahead... nothing is certain. We shall have to get back to darling Fara' soon, but i think you might have a good idea of what is coming next, your suspicions seem to be near the mark :)_

_grumpy: Given the opportunity, i think Erestor would find nests for every orphaned bird in Imladris. A place for everything and everything in its place. Estel may have more to explain to his beloved, but i do not think she shall require it._

_steelelf: Do you know how hard it is for me to type your handle without typing "Steelers"? I'm a major football fan, and it's just so difficult... Anyway, never let it be said that i should ever disappoint a reviewer. I hope this update was speedy enough for you. I tend to get a lot more updates in on a weekend than i do through the week, but i won't go for like a month or something and leave you hanging, i promise that much._

_Ok, request time: I know i have a sort of international following, if you will. What i am looking for is general information about a town called Burgess Hill in Sussex, England. I was going through some old papers this weekend and found that written down, with what i suspect is my great-grandfather's birthdate I knew Burgess Hill is nearish to the Channel in the south, but that's about all i know. Thanks for anyone who can tell me anything. You can email me if you like, link from my author profile._


	14. Capture

Elladan, Elrohir, and Gildor left the pathway on which Estel, Gandalf, and Glorfindel continued to the Last Homely House. As they made their way through the trees they told Gildor that the orc hunt was victorious. Gildor began to head back to his post, but Elrohir pulled him to continue following them, perplexed as he was that they seemed to be doubling back.

"Someone is following them," Elladan said in a low and cautious tone.

"And we mean to intercept them," Elrohir finished.

"When we finished with that orc filth we camped with Estel and Gandalf for the night and moved on with morning. I attempted to leave no trace of our camp, but it made little difference – those orc carcasses obviously didn't get there by themselves. What's more, there were four horses," Elladan said, annoyed that they were leaving such an obvious trail.

"We sent ours on ahead at the borders, but that will not matter," Elrohir said. "Whoever is following them is already close. I heard them that morning when were breaking camp. They are riding heavy-horse, some kind of cavalry, but I do not think they are from Rohan, whoever it is does not seem to have the horse sense that the Rohirrim do. There are many of them, perhaps as many as 50. They sounded to be three days off, but they are making up the distance. When last I heard them they were probably only a couple days ride away."

"They are riding hard, then," Gildor said. "Why do you suppose they are pursuing Estel so relentlessly?"

The twins merely exchanged glances, the same thought running through their minds: whoever was after him was also after Faramir. They would not speak of this aloud, not even to Gildor. Instead, Elladan said, "it does not appear clear to us."

"All we know is that we intend to protect our little brother," Elrohir said in a tone that left no questions in anyone's mind just how far he would go to protect Estel and Faramir.

"Do you plan to ride out and meet them or wait until they get here and block them?" Gildor asked. "You do not yet know what you are facing, and –"

"What _we_ are facing, Gil'," Elladan smirked. "You are on guard tonight as well."

"What do you mean to do?" Gildor continued, attempting to ignore Twin 1.

"We mean to do what we do best, of course," Elrohir said, "frustrate them."

"Well, there you are," Gildor said, sounding as if he had come to an important conclusion. "I am clearly not the Elf for this job. I should have gone back to the House and let Glorfindel come with you two. I am no match for him in the frustrating category."

"Ai, but here you are, and here we are, and somewhere out there, there they are," Elladan said.

"Right. And whoever it is who thinks they can ride roughshod into our home has another think coming. I do not want them to get within the border, so let us make haste! If they have stopped for the night, they should be here by late tomorrow night or early the day after."

"Calm down, 'Ro, they are not orcs," Elladan said, his often cooler head prevailing in these situations. "Actually, I think, diplomatically speaking, the best idea is for someone to fetch Glorfindel and meet us back here. We will wait at the border for them, we do not need to go on the offensive."

Elrohir had never cared much for diplomacy and it was with reservation that he accepted his brother's recommendation. Yet he did agree that they themselves needed a bit of rest, and so Gildor headed off to wait for Glorfindel at the House and bring him back.

ooo

It was early dawn two days later when Glorfindel woke his companions. They had seen the riders approaching in the night, noting that they had not made camp. They could be seen clearly, now only a few miles away. The four Elves took to the trees and waited as patiently as possible. Glorfindel would greet these newcomers first and if they did not comply… the other three were waiting in the limbs above, quivers full and bows strung.

"Black livery," Elladan muttered to Elrohir, "just as we feared."

"How do they dare to wear the image of the White Tree?" Elrohir hissed.

"Estel said that the tree did not bloom this spring," Elladan replied.

"How could it? How could anything flourish so near Mordor?" Elrohir said. "Had Estel left Faramir in that place and I learned about it I would have thrashed him for dereliction."

"_Dina_!" Glorfindel ordered. Denethor's troops were in shooting range, but Glorfindel bided his time just a little longer. Denethor was only ten feet away from the tree in which Glorfindel was perched when the Balrog-slayer slid off his branch and landed right in front of the heir to the Stewardship's horse. "_Daro_!" he commanded loudly, and every horse in the company halted, some riders so surprised by the stop that they were nearly posted. "What is your purpose here, Lord of Men?" Glorfindel inquired of Denethor.

Denethor had not thought of what he might say in such a situation, blinded as he was by his desire for what he saw as justice. He was in utterly no mood for playing games as it was, though. "I am here to apprehend the criminal Thorongil, on charges of theft and treason."

"Is that so? And what has this man you speak of stolen, prithee, Lord?" Glorfindel prattled on.

"A child. _My_ child," Denethor responded, his tone low and dangerous.

There were whispers now coursing through Denethor's troop. No one had any idea until now why they had come all this way, and many of them looked at the situation before them and did not like it even remotely. Here they were, stopped at the border of a strange land by an Elf, and suddenly Denethor alleges that his child was stolen when the word was well known throughout the city that Finduilas's second born had not lived, and add to that the fact that Denethor was charging Thorongil. All of them had known and served with the Ranger and they respected him immensely, and they all knew how Denethor detested him. Suddenly this venture seemed very unworthy.

"_Silence_!" Denethor fairly screamed at his men. "Lead us to him, now, Elf," he growled at Glorfindel.

Anyone who knew Glorfindel knew that _no one _ordered him to do anything. Drawing up to his full height he took a step toward Denethor, ancient eyes flashing with barely controlled ire. His voice was cold. "I am afraid, Mortal, that i have no direction allowing you passed the borders of Imladris. Business aside, if you are ever again fool enough to take such a tone with me, i assure that you will regret it to the end of your short days." Glorfindel's mad grin unnerved Denethor though he strove to conceal it.

"What is the meaning of this threat? I am Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor!" Denethor blustered.

"You do not say! I was good friends with your father's namesake... well, more than _good_ friend's really. That was all before that little incident with the Balrog that killed me though." Oh, even when furious, Glorfindel could never resist a chance to show off.

"I do not have time for this idle chatter! Either let us pass or lead me to the criminal," Denethor insisted.

"I have already told you that that is out of the question. If you would like to remain here at the border, under guard of course, until i hear that we are in need of more rats within our hills..."

"How dare you say such -" Denethor gasped and started to draw his sword but was cut short by a arrow shot specifically to just stick in the leather cuirass he wore without breaching it. It was a very serious warning shot, shot by an expert marksman.

"You will come with me at once," Glorfindel said evenly.

"That is more like it," Denethor started to say, but Glorfindel interrupted.

"I am not finished. Leave your horse, your men, and your weapons at the borders. Anything you bring with you will be considered contraband."

Denethor did not seem pleased with these requirements but accepted them, as long as he was taken to his _prey_ directly. He walked with Glorfindel about five steps before the Balrog-slayer took from his belt a length of rope and bound Denethor's hands with such suddenness that the Mortal scarcely registered what was happening. At the same time, the twins and Gildor showed themselves by landing between Denethor and his men, arrows at the ready.

Denethor put up an almighty fight and was anything but silent about his treatment, though Glorfindel was content to sit back and let him tire himself out. It did not take long before he shouted himself hoarse, giving Glorfindel the opportunity to speak. "You will forgive the rather rudimentary method i am forced to employ," he said, not speaking to Denethor but to his men. "You have my word that your Lord will not be harmed, intentionally, within this border. Though i must ask that you all remain here for now. Oh," he turned back to Denethor, "can not forget this." He brought forth a broad strip of leather, causing Denethor's eyes to widen. "Valar! Men are so vulgar! Elves have no such practices as involve whips, calm yourself. I am only going to blindfold you." Naturally, Denethor protested vocally, despite having very little voice to argue with. "Perhaps it would be in your best interests if i were to gag you as well? Your voice needs a rest if you are to plead Lord Elrond for mercy."

This turn of events was really not in their plans, but the twins were willing to go along with it. They trusted Glorfindel in matters of security implicitly and besides, they would not mind having this Man around to frighten for a while.

ooo

_linda: Fin's fate is yet to be decided, i can not say how her situation will work out yet. And right about now, Denethor's scary mood isn't going to hold a candle to Glorfindel's :)_

_Elenhin: Well, it's not a longing to strangle, just an overriding sense of confusion that says, "just nod and smile." Little Bori' is cute and i've been thinking ahead to older Bori'. Wonder how his life will be changed without his little brother._

_viggo: Welcome to show. Hope you are enjoying, can't wait to hear from you again!_


	15. An Unwelcome Welcome

Glorfindel walked along, dragging a disgruntled, infuriated, and very highly affronted Denethor along the paths to the Last Homely House. "What is the matter, O Lord of Men? Are our paths not lovely enough for you? Too many roots? I can sympathize, when i do not watch where i am going, even i can trip over them at times. I shall sing, and that will make this little road we walk so much easier for you."

Denethor seemed to protest, but through the gag it was impossible to tell if that desperate mumbling was displeasure or joy, or so Glorfindel would claim. Glor' already knew which song to sing, it was his favorite and no one newcomer to Imladris escaped without hearing at least once. Sometimes he liked to get them coming and going. Glorfindel sang on in a loud, cheerful voice that some called the Imladris version of the rack:

"_O! What are you doing,  
And where are you going?  
Your ponies need shoeing!  
The river is flowing!  
O! tra-la-la-lally  
here down in the valley!  
O! What are you seeking,  
And where are you making?  
The faggots are reeking,  
The bannocks are baking!  
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly  
the valley is jolly,  
ha! ha!"_

Glorfindel seemed to think that making the road easier entailed making the entire road easier and so he did not stop singing until they crossed the bridge and were walking up the stairs to the courtyard of the Last Homely House. Erestor had heard that ear-splitting disquietude coming and was just coming out on the porch to give Glorfindel an earful of his own.

"Glorfindel!" Erestor snapped, "There is an infant upstairs trying to sleep, would you kindly silence -" Erestor noticed the bedraggled thing who was blindfolded, gagged, whose hands were bound, and who was connected to Glorfindel by a lead. It was clearly a Mortal Man of Gondor and Erestor felt his heart rate speeding up. "Glorfindel...," he said carefully, "who is _that_?"

"This?" Glorfindel said as though he just realized he had been dragging the Man along. "He calls himself the son of Ecthelion, who is apparently the current Steward of Gondor. He does not put me in mind of Ecthelion of Gondolin though. He _never_ resisted," Glor' said with a leering grin.

Erestor's scowl could have boiled the ice of the Helcarax. "Why do the Valar hate me so?" he muttered under his voice before turning and running back into the house. A second later he ran back out. "Do _not_ move under any circumstances!"

Running back into the House, Erestor rushed to Elrond's study, all in a state. "You are not going to believe this," he said by way of greeting. "However, i must ask that you do not kill Glorfindel, as dearly as i would like it if you did, it would do no more good than it did the first time i fear. He will only come back again, brighter, louder, and even more annoying."

"I assure you, Erestor, i have no plans to commit kinslaying any time soon," Elrond said with perfect calm. Many were the times that Erestor had burst into his study or private chambers in a flap about some foolishness of Glorfindel's. "What seems to be the matter?"

"He has just returned from his patrol. He has in his company a Man, bound, blindfolded, and gagged, who he tells me is the son of the Steward of Gondor. Why that incompetent idiot ever brought him of all people here is beyond me! Does he never think of the danger he risks to others in his actions?" Erestor was pacing about the study, practically tearing his hair out.

"I am rather surprised it has taken him this long to get here. I expected to receive Denethor the day after Estel got in. I suppose i was not in the right mind to calculate speeds though," Elrond said aloud almost absently. "Please have Glorfindel remove all restrictive devices and you may escort him here. You should also tell Glorfindel that he should get back to the border as soon as possible, though i anticipate no difficulty with Denethor's men. Ask him to take a party to the border and have my sons return here. Also, please have Gildor take this message to Lady Gilraen, remind him that it is imperative that he escort her here and not by the main road."

Erestor's only reply was to stare at Elrond the way he always did when the Lord of Imladris knew something aforehand but did not share it with him. He loved Elrond dearly and would do anything for him, but sometimes he wished that he would just once inform him before something significant took place. Erestor nodded and turned to leave, not in the mood to make a show of acknowledging Elrond's thanks.

Elrond paced his study, never a good sign, trying to persuade himself on his next course of action. A part of him wanted to have Estel brought to his study as well, that he could take that final step in truly owning responsibility for his child. But yet there was also that part of him that still wanted to shelter his "fourth" child, that same part of him still wished that he had not told Estel the truth of his birth and allowed him to leave for years at a time. The gods only knew where he wandered half the time as many times he could not even find him to keep an eye on him through the palantír.

And after all, he thought, Estel had already taken more than enough responsibility for Faramir.

It was the morning after they had arrived in Imladris that Elrond went to Estel's chambers to apologize for his rather curt reaction, knowing that if his little girl could forgive so easily than he, by rights, had to also. As he expected, his son was not yet awake and would not likely be for some while. But Faramir was waking and fussing and Elrond went to the cradle to look upon his grandson. It had been a long time since he had seen a child that young.

Elrond knew that he needed to be in healer-mind and make sure that Faramir was physically well after that difficult journey. Elven infants were delicate too, and he could only imagine how delicate this Mortal infant was. But it was when Faramir reached up and batted at a braid that had fallen forward that it all came back to the Elf lord. He remembered Estel's arrival in his home 50 years ago, his braids were never quite straight for years after that. Looking at his sleeping son he thought how childlike he still looked with all that grim countenance washed away by peaceful rest.

Elrond smiled warmly and kissed his son's brow and whispered, "never shall i cease to love you as my own. Sleep well, ion-nín, my grandson and i have some catching up to do."

Forcing himself to concentrate at the task at hand, Elrond stopped pacing and stood at his window. He thought it best if he could simply calm Denethor and get him gone again as soon as possible. As diplomatic as Elrond was, even with the most... trying... of visitors, one ill move directed at his son or grandson would prove just how wrathful a 6000 year old Half-elf could be.

As the footsteps of an uncouth Mortal drew nearer, Elrond turned, reminding himself that he must be tactful, yet knowing that that dour look about him was not going to give way to a welcoming smile no matter how he tried. He knew too much about Denethor to allow his guard to give in to any too genial behavior. 

"Lord Elrond," Erestor said, appearing at the door of his study, "Lord Denethor of Gondor to see you." Immediately the advisor backed away and closed the door, but he made it a point to stay nearby.

"Welcome to Imladris, Denethor, son of Ecthelion," Elrond said, his tone terse.

ooo

_Verse quoted from the Welcoming Song of the Elves in The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkein. _

_linda: Glorfindel is a dear, isn't he? I guess it takes capturing the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor and highly insulting him for a reborn Balrog-slayer to have any fun. _

_steelelf: Well, not terribly bad. Could be worse, for Denethor anyway. He should consider himself very fortunate he had Glor' as an escort and not the Terrible Two._

_Delphae: Have you had any luck with the site as yet? For some reason, on my computer at home i can not get my profile page to stay current. I have cleared my browser cache and visited the Stats page numerous times. Go figure._

_grumpy: Someone will need to get rid of Denethor as soon as possible, and hopefully without any paths being crossed between him and Aragorn._

_Iblis: Moving is one of the truly difficult things in life. You have my sympathies. And yes, all of this, from your review :)_

_Elenhin: Spider webs? I have enough of those in my cellar. The only thing they are good for is making me a little quicker when i grab a bottle of water before going to work in the morning (it's a Pittsburgh thing to have a refrigerator in your cellar, i know of no other place in the world that does that. It's main function is a place to keep the beer.) But you are forgiven for being late, as this chapter is also. I had a very busy week last week. Thursday my mum and i went to Cirque du Soleil's Varekai (extremely good show, i recommend it), Friday was my birthday, Saturday i was lazy, Sunday was Mother's Day, and so on. I wanted to make this chapter longer, but i thought this a good place to leave off, and so i did. _


	16. Realizations

Denethor effected an exaggerated jerk that Elrond supposed was meant to serve as a bow. Elrond returned no such courtesy. "Please be seated," he said, the invitation sounding much more like a command.

Denethor, however, decided to take it for an invitation, which could be refused. "I am not here for diplomacy," he said carefully keeping his tone low. "Théoden of Rohan thought he could thwart me and shelter Thorongil, but i know that he is here. Hand him over to me at once and i shall not take the cost of my troubles through your people."

Elrond's jaw was trembling and his stare intensified. It was taking all of the Elf lord's considerable will to remain composed. He could feel his brow twitching. "What you shall not do is make threats against any of my people. As to what you shall do... you shall remove yourself from my realm and not return. The hunter is not welcome within the sanctuary of Imladris and never has been."

"I would be more than pleased to leave this preposterous place and never see it again in all the rest of my days." Denethor hissed. "However, i shall not leave without that... brigand in my possession."

"Only a Man like you would harbor such a notion that one may be in the 'possession' of another," Elrond said in utter disgust. "I have already told you that Imladris is a sanctuary. Any _brigand_ whom i choose to shelter is safe here and beyond _your_ power to touch," he said in a very meaningful tone. He could not help playing with the Ring of Sapphire as he said it, and idly the thought came to him that, with the rage he was in, he half expected the Bruinen to come rushing through his home at any moment.

Denethor suddenly got a rather bad feeling and wished that he had been a little more secretive about this mission. There was something about the Elf that made even Denethor realize that he could not be beaten, especially not here in his own realm. Still, Denethor would never let it be said that he had backed down from anything. "Then keep Thorongil," he said bitterly, oh how he had dreamed of disgracing that man. "As long as i never see him again i will care not. You will, however, return to me my child."

"No child of yours dwells within this realm," Elrond said evenly.

Denethor just stared, hate in his eyes. "Just over two months ago my wife was heavy with child. She gave birth and i was told that the child did not survive. It was a lie. The child, my son, is here. He was taken by Thorongil."

"Where does your information come from, Denethor?" Elrond asked, trying his best to remain subtle.

"I saw as much before i started out," Denethor said, unknowingly confirming his reliance on the palantír to Elrond.

"I meant your information regarding the parentage of the infant," he said, unable to keep the slightly condescending tone from his voice.

"Where is the legendary Elven hearing, Half-elf?" Denethor sneered. "I have just told you that _my wife _was with child."

"It is amazing," Elrond chuckled humorlessly. "You truly are as foolish as you look. Let me see... if i remember, Mortal women's gestation period is nine months, is that correct?"

"Yes it is correct," Denethor snapped back, wondering how the renowned wise Elrond could be so dimwitted.

"Aye... and the last time you and your wife copulated?" he asked casually. It was the healer in him that allowed him to ask such personal questions so easily.

Denethor grew outraged again by that inquiry. "How do you dare to ask me such a thing?" Truth be told, he could not answer immediately anyhow.

"That long?" Elrond said teasingly. Kill them with kindness, Gil-galad used to frequently say. Elrond had always considered himself better with the sword. "Well, it can not be that bad, it is been 473 years for me. We'd been together for 2000 years. You need not divulge anything to me, only keep your knowledge to yourself, study it, and tell me if it is possible that the child your wife carried was yours?"

Denethor was very silent for a long time. Only now had the realization come to him that, considering the timing, the infant could not have been of his loins. Denethor turned to leave without a word, his rage had reached a height he had not known was possible. He slammed the door to Elrond's study behind him.

Elrond felt a sense of relief that he had managed to get through to Denethor with relative ease. Resuming his place at his desk, however, he hastened to draft an order that the border patrol be upped considerably and that the practice of scouting be resumed.

Out in the hallway of the house, though, Denethor was Mordor-bent on making someone pay. Looking around, he saw no one. A staircase caught his eye, though, and he remembered hearing the uptight Elf who had told the maniacal, sadistic Elf to stop singing say that there was an infant trying to sleep upstairs. Denethor simply walked up the stairs unnoticed.

ooo

_As good a place to stop as any :) Here i am, with a nice, beautiful day off that i scheduled about a month ago. I though there are three things i can do with the house to myself for the afternoon: i can listen to music really loud, i can watch the Return of the King, EE, again, or i can do some spring cleaning. Up until yesterday, spring cleaning was in the lead, followed closely by RotK EE, with music coming in to show. Yesterday i had a little tickle in the back of my throat all day. I stillworked three hours cleaning the patio after putting in a full day's work, and when i woke up this morning i woke up with fever/chills and all-over weakness. At least it is a good excuse to do nothing but write all weekend. Just thought i'd mention it to pad out this chapter a bit._

_Question for anyone who might know the answer: After watching RotK EE for the millionth time today, and having neverheard this mentioned before, i need to know if i am the only one who has noticed. When Pip lights the beacon, there are two guards there, one wearing a helmet, the other not. The one who is not has black, bushy hair and thick eye brows, and looks EXACTLY like the man who Faramir's shot killed when we first see him in Ithilien in The Two Towers. I know how PJ liked to reuse people like that, but did anyone else notice it, or just me? If not, i urge you to pull out your DVDs and tell me i'm not crazy, or i am._

_steelelf: More twins to come... hopefully soon enough._

_Elenhin: I really do not like spiders. My rule on spiders is, if i could identify it in a police line-up of spiders or describe it in detail to a sketch artist, i kill it, immediately. The more definible marks or color a spider has, the faster i kill it. Yes, Elrond's braids will suffer, but i think it will do him a lot of good - messy braids - soft heart._

_linda:) Oh, i give him a reason for hating not just Aragorn, but also all Elves, for distrusting Wizards, well, so on and on._

_Jacinthe: Everyone falls in love with Faramir, it is inevitable. More to come soon._

_AM: Thanks! Something Denethorish, you say? Only wait until next chapter. That is unless i get really cruel and decide it is time to update on Finduilas and Bori'. :-D Dare i?_

_Iblis: I could have made this chapter a little longer... but, i thought this a good place to leave off... don't you agree? In my experience (which is admittedly quite limited) babies like to grab anything that comes into their reach. And they like to chew very much. Grasping and rooting reflexes. _


	17. Timing is Everything

Erestor had not strayed far from Elrond's door, but nor did he make it obvious that he was keeping an ear out. He did not trust this Denethor as far as he could throw him. He heard the door slam and aggravated footsteps walking away and relaxed, turning his attention to other matters. When Erestor heard footsteps going up the stairs, he thought nothing of it at first, thinking it was just Estel, though he was glad that Elrond's "third" son had obviously just missed his adversary.

The twins came into Erestor's office first, after seeing their father's door still closed. Both looked a little rough and Erestor took a steadying breath as he realized that they must have crossed paths with Denethor leaving the house. "Please do not tell me that further insulted that man? I do not like him either, but, lads - Oh... who is escorting him back to the border? I sent Glorfindel on ahead just to be sure that he did not cause a political incident."

The twins exchanged concerned glances. "Erestor," Elrohir said gently, "have you been 'taking stock' of adar's wine cellar again?"

"Who is escorting whom?" Elladan asked. "We thought adar would have us take the Man back to his company when he is finished with him."

"He is finished, or at least that door i heard slam and the heavy footsteps going away would tell me so." Suddenly something dawned on Erestor. "Estel drank that lavender tea... he is sound asleep, that was _not him _going upstairs!"

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir needed hear another thing, they put two and two together easily enough and silently sprinted up the stairs, weapons drawn.

When Aragorn woke that first morning in Imladris to see his son cradled in his father's arms, he thought all was well with the world at last. But when he got out of bed and felt those deep aches, sudden warmth, and that hollow, washed-out feeling, he groaned. He should have known it, this always happened when he pushed himself too hard on the road and only as soon as he was finally getting some rest. His body worked to its utmost to keep him well while he needed it to, but the moment he let his guard down he instantly got ill.

By this time, he had not been out of his chambers in three days and was still spending much of the day asleep. Arwen had offered to take Faramir to her chambers until his father was well again, but Aragorn could not bear having his son out of his sight, even if he knew it would be best. Instead, Faramir's cradle was in his sitting room so that he would not chance illness himself, and Arwen checked on him frequently, often walking with him in the garden while his adar rested.

Aragorn was indeed sound asleep and did not hear anyone enter. Denethor thought it was all too easy. Most of the doors to private chambers were left standing open, leaving much guesswork out of it for him. The first closed door he tried opened and there inside in the sitting room as an infant in a cradle. Denethor grinned frighteningly as he leaned in to get a closer look at the baby. "So you are not mine, eh?" he hissed. "Then i shall have no regrets if you should somehow happen to end up all alone in the wild."

He had not even noticed the sleeping man in the next room, the real target of his wrath, until there was a shifting sound and a low moan as of someone trying to sleep through a fever. In his sleep, Aragorn tried to chase away the dream fragments of a nightmarish Denethor stealing his baby. What a foolish thing to dream, he tried to tell himself, he was home now, safe.

When Denethor saw Thorongil sleeping fitfully in the next room he completely ignored the child, and, burning with madness, grabbed two fistfuls of his rival's shirt, roughly wakening him as he hauled him out of bed. For a moment, Aragorn did not even know where he was, all he felt was a spinning sensation as he tried to get his bearings. When the irate face of Ecthelion's son came into view, Aragorn thought he was hallucinating and reminded himself to sound his father out about whatever he put in that tea.

That pair of hands now gripping his throat was no hallucination though. "You raped my wife and i will kill you for it!" Denethor said in a frighteningly even tone.

Aragorn tried to tell himself to fight back but his mind was not working, all he could get himself to do was choke out the word "not..." Denethor was seriously going to kill him and trying to pull away, clawing at his hands, was doing nothing but wasting his energy, he told himself. Blackness was slowly edging into his field of vision and he frantically looked about for his son. All he saw was Arwen forcefully bringing a bottle to the back of Denethor's head.

ooo

Arwen's chambers were located on the other side of the house, nearer to her father's than her brothers'. She thought she heard Mortal steps going toward the brother's wing and decided to check on her belovéd whom she had been tending back to health whenever she came to check on Faramir. She thought to bring her newest little love a mid-day snack as well.

As she approached Estel's chambers, the feeling that something was not right came over her and she went cautiously. What she saw horrified her, someone was actually trying to murder Aragorn literally with his bare hands. For a half a moment she was so shocked that she could not move, but suddenly as an automatic reaction she found herself lifting the bottle of milk and crashing it down upon this stranger's head.

Both Denethor and Aragorn fell just as the twins came rushing in. For a moment they weren't quite sure which one their little sister had just knocked out, but considering that Denethor was the one with milk all over him they guessed it was him. Neither one had been back to the house in days and did not know that Arwen had forgiven Aragorn his indiscretion and accepted Faramir unconditionally.

Faramir started to cry from all of the commotion going on around him and Arwen looked up at her two gape-mouthed brothers just standing there doing nothing. "Elrohir, find adar, quickly! Elladan, calm Faramir," she ordered, checking Aragorn's vital signs herself. Elladan held Faramir as he settled somewhat, able to hang onto his uncle's long hair, but Elrond and Erestor were already rushing down the hall as Elrohir went out.

"What happened?" Elrond asked immediately, seeing his son's sword still drawn.

"I do not know, adar, i think 'Wen -" Elrohir had not time to explain as his father ran past into Estel's chambers.

Elrond was pressed to keep himself in a rational state of mind when he saw not only Denethor laying in a heap on the floor but also Estel. Quickly and gently he lifted his son up onto his bed and noted that he was all right. All sons, Arwen, and Faramir were alive, that was Elrond's chief concern. He could work from there. "Elrohir, there should be a cloth in a cool tincture in the washroom. Bring it here and hold it to his head until he wakes. Erestor, get that _brigand_ out of my sight so that i may concentrate on those who deserve my care." He wanted to ask Arwen to take care of Faramir, but it was clear that she was not going to leave Estel's side, and Elladan seemed all right with the little one. "Tell me what happened, Arwen," he said while Erestor dragged an unconscious Denethor out of the room after securing his hands.

"I was coming to give Faramir some milk," she started, "but i saw that Man trying to... to... to strangle -" abhorrence evident in her voice. The weight of the situation suddenly hit her that had she not come when she did, Aragorn might have been lost to her. All at once she broke down in Elrond's arms, crying "oh, ada!"

"_Sidh, wilwarin-neth, im nev_," Elrond comforted her. He used to call Celebrían his wilwarin, and since Arwen's birth she had been his wilwarin-neth. Had his little butterfly not needed his comfort and his foster son his care, he would have been in a rage that would have made Fëanor seem tranquil and sensible. He was fairly certain that the rage would be still to come. For now, though, Denethor could wait until the next age to receive his wrath for all he cared.

ooo

_Sidh, wilwarin-neth, im nev - Peace, little butterfly, i am here (neth is literally 'young', btw)_

_sidhe: Who in Rivendell would really let a madman with a vengence run loose? Arwen might have gotten first crack at Denethor, and for that he is lucky, had it been the twins, he would be more than just unconscious, but he will soon have a very angry Elrond to reckon with._

_Jacinthe: Hopefully this was merciful enough on your nerves. I am just as glad as you to be getting these chapters out so quickly._

_Elenhin: Could i possibly let anyone harm little Fara'? I've put big Fara' through enough to make up for all sorts of trouble that this little one could go through._

_steelelf: I didn't cause you a massive coronary on that last chapter, did i?_

_Iblis: Sauron's got nothing on angry Elrond, and whatever happens to befallDenethor will indeed make for a very interesting meeting some years to come when Boromir comes to Imladris._

_linda: Cut down to size, eh? Perhaps that is just the ticket! wicked laugh_


	18. Reflection

For as much as Elrond wished he could leave Denethor to rot, he knew too well that he needed to deal with him soon and rapidly. Estel had woken an hour after nearly being choked nearly to death. Though Estel was fine and just needed rest and a steady dosing of restorative teas that even the twins could prepare, Elrond hesitated to leave his son's chambers. He found excuses to stay, be it keeping Estel calm and reassuring him that he would deal with everything (even if he told himself that he was sheltering the young Man far too much), spending time with Faramir, so on. Elrond knew he was really only putting off dealing with Denethor.

The whole situation had unsettled so the Lord of Imladris. He had foreseen none of this. He knew that there had been a son in Estel's future, but how could he have missed the rather glaring details of the child's birth? That was what had really perturbed him more than anything, just not having seen that fact. Elrond could not help the feeling that had he divined Finduilas's future, it would have been plain to him, yet something told him that he still would not have seen his son as the father.

The circumstances needed his attention though, and he managed to force himself to leave Estel's chambers and let everyone else fuss over him, knowing that it was nothing short of his son's illness that kept him from getting to Denethor himself. Elrond was exhausted and frustrated when Erestor intercepted him as he passed his study.

"I need to get this matter in hand immediately, Erestor," Elrond protested rather weakly.

"On the contrary, meldir, that is exactly what you do _not_ need to do," Erestor countered much more convincingly. "You need to rest, you need to eat something sustaining, you need take a swim in the hot spring. In short, you need to do anything but deal with this. How can you make any decisions the way you are now, let alone talk rationally to that man?"

Elrond sighed. "I recognize the value of those words, Erestor. The trouble is, i do not want him in my land any longer than necessary and i want to have this done with as soon as possible."

"Then i insist that you take counsel with me first. What are you going to do?" Erestor practically demanded.

"I do not know," Elrond conceded resignedly. "I do not want to do anything. How can i possibly know how to handle this situation? I never even knew _my_ father. The closest contact i ever have with him is when i look up into Elbereth's night sky and see the light of his accursed Silmaril."

Erestor knew that when Elrond started going on about his father that the Half-elf needed to sleep well and long and immediately before frustration turned to all-out fury. "Elrond, mellon-nín, come, take some wine with me and share your burden."

Elrond almost grudgingly followed Erestor into his study and sank down into a chair. "This is not a fair burden to share," he said.

"I do not recall a single one yet that has been," Erestor pointed out, "though you have shared many of my burdens when i did not feel as though i should have put them upon you."

Once Elrond had a glass of wine in him, though, all sense of fairness disappeared and he let loose to Erestor's patient ears all that had been weighing so heavily on him. An hour and five glasses of wine later, Elrond was not only sound asleep, but had divulged things to Erestor that he had pledged to himself to not speak of - in wine, truth.

Erestor now sat considering the knowledge he had just gained. He had known that there was something about the Man from Gondor that he did not quite trust, to hear that he had been frequently utilizing the palantír of what was Minas Anor just confirmed it to Erestor. It was no secret among the Wise and those in their counsel who else held one of the seeing stones and for that reason their use was carefully monitored. It was just as well known to Ecthelion and his son and heir. Erestor could not begin to imagine the lies spinning around in the Mortal's mind, so subtle he would not even know that they were lies until the flaw was exposed and then... the Valar only knew what that kind of revelation would do to a poor adan. Erestor could see why Elrond did not want to put off dealing with Denethor, but he also knew that at least one calm and rational mind was needed in that exchange. Yet, Erestor had to wonder if it really was only the influence of Mordor that caused Denethor to so ignore and neglect the needs of his wife...

ooo

Denethor sat in a very unused area of Imladris, one which for centuries had held nothing but wine stores and had once entertained young twin boys who liked to believe that it was the dungeon of Angband. He did not know how he ended up in this dark, cold retaining cell with such an ache in the back of his head and his hands bound, again. He had to be still in the custody of Elves because though it felt as though his hands were tied with mere strings, even his uttermost exertion of strength could not budge them.

Exhausted, hungry, alone, and now growing afraid, the soon-to-be Steward's mind began to work on him. It was no longer the angry mind, possessed of no thought other than revenge, but now a mind of crushing clarity. How had he not seen? How had he not realized so much that was going on about him for so long? It was that stone, he told himself, that damned Elven stone in the tower! He vowed to never go near it again, now that he was only just beginning to see what it had brought him to.

Denethor tried not to think of what had led him to this situation but only how to get out of it. A strong commander for Gondor, his belief was that dwelling on the past was not the way to benefit either the present or the future. He needed to put aside all that he was feeling and concentrate on escape, at the very least blackmail. But try as he might, he could not help remembering Finduilas's smile and joyful manner… it drove a knife into his heart now where it has once eased him. How could it be that he was only now adding things up?

It all started when that damnable Mithrellas had gone away, back to Dol Amroth to care for her father. For a time, Finduilas had seemed more alone and unhappy than ever, and it was only when she was holding her sleeping baby boy that she had seemed glad. But time went on and after some months Finduilas seemed to be more comfortable allowing a nurse to watch over Boromir while she spent entire days in the gardens or library or some such place. It was then that she seemed to be at long last a little more comfortable in Minas Tirith than she had ever been.

But as quickly as it came on, her new found joy turned back into sorrow. Denethor only now realized that it was when his father had given Thorongil leave of his service that Finduilas grew cheerless again.

Thinking further on ahead, Denethor examined the circumstances surrounding the next time Finduilas had seemed joyful. It was almost a year ago exactly. He could not understand it then, his father had taken a serious turn for the worse, and his wife seemed to be walking on air, yet he knew she and Ecthelion were close. Ecthelion had asked him to send word to Thorongil of his failing health and Denethor told his father that he would. He never did. He had no reason to want to see that man again, even to honor his father's wishes. And yet, several weeks later he had overheard one of the healers saying how good it was to have seen Thorongil again and that he was sorry he could stay no more than a day. Gods! How did that man always elude him?

Now it was that Denethor put one and one and one together and came up with three. It was around the time that he overheard that conversation that Finduilas rather quickly became no longer as happy as she had been only two weeks before. Now she was anxious and seemed in a state of worry and fear. She had taken to going to the Houses of Healing more often and she rarely left her chambers for anything else. She was never present to break fast with him anymore. Not long after that had she told him that she was again with child. He had been pleased about it and never even considered that he had not shared her bed in months, such female issues only frightened him to the point of ignoring them entirely. All of these things came clearly to him now: Finduilas's happiness was at having slept with Denethor's most hated rival when he sneaked into town and back out again, her anxiety was because she knew she carried his child, not her husband's. It had been no rape, but was Finduilas's desire.

Briefly he questioned his own behavior, spending all of his days and nights working, attending councils, studying maps and missives and trying to figure out a pattern to the orc attacks. When he did have a spare moment, what was his first though? Keeping his sword arm in shape or fussing over Boromir. Any contact he'd actually had with his wife for many months had been most incidental.

But no, he would not fault himself! Anger returned to Denethor, just as strong as it had been when he tried to rid his life of Thorongil once and for all, albeit a much calmer anger; an anger that could wait. It was not his fault that he had so many responsibilities; he was the son of the Steward! What did Finduilas expect of him? Should he have laid aside his duties to the kingdom to hang about her, showering her with tokens of his affections like some unbearded lad courting for the first time? Did she think that she was better than his soldiers and deserved more of his time because her brother held the title of Prince of Dol Amroth? Gondor needed her armies to be ready to repel Mordor at any time and what difference would it make if the very gates of the city were broken and Minas Tirith lay in ruins but his wife well sexed? For Denethor, duty was always to be placed before pleasure.

ooo

_linda: Aragorn is really lucky, all the way around._

_AM: I would have loved to have seen it, too. Maybe one of these days i will be able to convince Peter Jackson to do this version? Right. _

_grumpy: And who ever thought milk could be a weapon?_

_Elenhin: Yep, killed off his wife and daughter last time around... but at least he i am taking care of him now. Can't be terrible all the time, i guess. I definitely have had some interesting ideas about how the twins could torture Denethor. I won't say just yet, have to see if i decided to use them yet. If not, i might do up some "sketches" and post them anyway. I might do a "sketch" of Finduilas's life before she went to Minas Tirith._

_steelelf: From the hospital? Really? Oh dear... well, i hope my little weavings are helpful medicine._

_Jacinthe: I do my best to keep my readers on the edge, while not exactly going over the edge. I try to update pretty frequently, which just goes to show that i have little social life :)_

_Iblis: We shall have to wait and see what little Fara' makes of Arwen as he grows older. He will get to meet his grandma soon though, she is on her way to the Last Homely House._

_Raksha: A few things to keep in mind before you feel too sorry for Denethor: _

_1 - When Denethor charged off, hehad no knowledge that Faramir was his. Only a very vague and rash suspicion._

_2 - He asked no one any questions or attempted actual communication,only took extreme actions._

_3 - Though sometimes it seems as if he loves Fin',he has not acted like it when it mattered(ie - not allowing her to go home, not really being there for herin the weeks after she "lost" her baby). _

4 - He was treated rather well by his hosts in fact. In all Elven realms we see the same "welcoming treatment" of their "guests."

5- Aragorn has been through much purification already. Without tumbling into a huge political rant, who is to say his actions were any less moral than anyone else's?

6- Last but definitely not least, forgiveness is not to be used sparingly but liberally, especially where love is concerned. I only have a right to say that because i have lived that.

Well, that is just my piece on that.


	19. Eärmár

Dol Amroth

After a long and slow journey of two weeks, the party traveling under the banner of the Steward of Gondor arrived in Dol Amroth by the sea. It was the homecoming that Finduilas had long awaited and long needed. The first sign of her motherland was the white seabirds gliding gracefully, drawing the watcher into their happy dance. When she first spotted the sight of the white wave crests sparkling like a million diamonds in the sun her breath caught - she was home.

Guards had reported to Prince Imrahil seeing a small host coming in bearing the Steward's emblem. Imrahil could not say that it was welcome news. He knew of Ecthelion's ill health and was rather sure that he would not be making such a journey. His suspicion was that Ecthelion had gone beyond the Veil, and his _most_ beloved brother-in-law had so cordially come to break the news personally. His one comfort was that perhaps his sister might have come, too. Imrahil wished dearly to see Finduilas again, as it had been some years since she had even written the last.

Going out to the courtyard to greet the visitors was like torture to Imrahil. The day was a beautiful one, with summer's heat just making it's inroads, and the Prince longed to miss out on all of his tedious duties and spend a day on the beach that he only ever got to see from the window of study these days. Oh how fondly he remembered spending entire days playing with Finduilas on the beaches, building sandcastles, swimming, staring at the horizon trying to see all the way to Valinor. Though five years younger than her, he was always the brave and noble knight who was ready to sacrifice himself to save the beautiful lady from the sea-monster (which was an obvious myth to the children as they knew the soothing sea could never send up anything so foul).

Imrahil scanned the riders for Denethor, but did not see him immediately. The coach made him curious. Perhaps this was a visit from Steward Ecthelion and not Steward Denethor after all, though it would seem to him that the elder would have had to have gone mad to come all this way in such ill health.

Now he watched to see who emerged from the carriage. A soldier opened the door and out hopped a young boy, of no more than about five years. The lad looked around in absolute awe as another lady stepped out and quickly took the child's hand to prevent him from wandering in his wondering. Imrahil could not be sure but he thought the lady may have been a dear friend of Finduilas's and his hope swelled. The soldier offered his hand to the next passenger and that was the first time he had seen his dear sister in the seven years since her marriage to the Steward's son.

Imrahil set aside decorum and ran to the carriage, crying "Fin'!" as he lifted her up and swung her around. He was purely elated to see her again.

"Imrahil!" she admonished laughingly. "Brother, put me down! For the sake of the Valar, I am a grown woman!"

"Aye, Finduilas, aye," he said hugging her tightly. "What a wonderful surprise this is! I thought i should have to come to that cold rock you live on if i wanted to see you again."

Finduilas's smile remained, but a slight shadow passed through her eyes before she quickly changed the subject. "Boromir, come and meet your uncle," she said, her little boy running over to her.

Ever the perfect little gentleman, Boromir nodded respectfully and bowed to Imrahil, saying "I greet thee, uncle mine."

Imrahil laughed as he knelt to give the child a big hug. He lifted Boromir up just as he had Finduilas and already the boy liked his uncle. "Oh, but he is the image of you, Fin'!"

She nodded. "He is Minas Tirith's finest soldier," she said with pride.

"I might be now, uncle," Boromir said, "but that is only because Captain Thorongil departed." Boromir felt rather important to display such knowledge as had been imparted to him by Lorindol, the soldier who had allowed Boromir to ride with him for much of the journey. He did not notice how his mother had blanched at the name, but Imrahil did.

"Well... Gods! I still can not believe you are really here. How long shall you stay?" he asked.

Finduilas looked genuinely unsure when she said, "We had not really planned that. I suppose it remains to be seen."

"You are home, Fin', you can stay for the rest of your days should you wish it," Imrahil said with such conviction Finduilas could not help but think her brother saw her real reason for coming. "Come, come inside and i will order up a feast for my sister's unlooked for return, and with Lord Boromir and Lady Mithrellas. Dol Amroth should rejoice of this!"

"Imrahil," Finduilas said, "my old rooms...-"

"Are just as you left them," her brother assured her.

"Then i think i shall go there first and rest, for a time. The road was long and tiresome." Imrahil nodded, but looked concerned and Finduilas knew it. "Boromir, would you like to come with mumma for a nap?"

Imrahil knew her game. Anytime she seemed unwell she would always bring the focus back to someone else. He would ask her later, but now he knew it best to let her rest before supper. Besides, he wanted to get to know his nephew. "Finduilas, do you not know? Soldiers are scarcely interested in naps, not when there are sea-monsters to be slain!"

"Sea-monsters?" Boromir said, his eyes wide, not in fear but in excitement.

"Aye, lad. They range near these coasts, especially on summer afternoons such as this. They are rarely seen, but on occasion there have been reports." Imrahil was absolutely in his glory. "It would seem that they are particularly interested in beautiful ladies. It is said that if there is not a brave soldier or two on the beach, they might come up out of the waters, green and dripping and gooey, and make off with the most beautiful princess they can find, taking her down into their watery lairs."

"They will not come near my mumma and she is the most beautiful princess!" Boromir said resolutely.

Imrahil smiled broadly. "I think, sister, that you may take your rest with peace of mind, for Lord Boromir of Gondor is a most worthy guard."

"I agree," Finduilas said, kissing both her little boy and little brother on the cheek. "I will see you both at supper. Do not let him get too dirty, i beg you, Imrahil."

"You have my word, Fin'," Imrahil said with all solemnity.

"Night-night, mumma. I won't let the sea-monsters come after you!" Boromir said as his mother went into the grand palace on the beach with Mithrellas, a peaceful smile on her face for the first time in years.

Imrahil turned to the soldiers who had accompanied them. "My thanks to you gentlemen for escorting my sister and nephew here. Please, make yourselves at home in Dol Amroth. If there is a thing you lack for, have it brought to my attention and i shall rectify the situation at once." The escort host nodded and went on with the Guards of Dol Amroth to be shown their quarters. "Come, my Lord Captain," Imrahil said to Boromir, "let us hasten to the beach before the ill-favored _aerloki_ make off with our beloved women!"

ooo

_aerloki - Sindarin of my own invention, literally "sea-snakes"_

_AM: I fully intend to bring Aragorn and Fin's 'rationalizations' in, that is integral. Sooner than later i would think._

_steelelf: Even reviews on the fly can make my day! Thanks!_

_linda: Erestor is wise, of course, so is his wine. Denethor has much conflict to deal with, i may or may not get into all of it, but i think most things that aren't brought to the surface are still rather legible. One thing is certain, Elrond's motives are far from obvious at any given time._

_Elenhin: I believe i might have done a slight bait-and-switch with this chapter. I had you all geared up for lil Fara', then i bring out young Boromir. Though, i know how you adore him, too, so i guess it isn't so bad. Bori is almost way too cute in this chapter. Likely back to Imladris next time though, and i also hope this chapter was quick enough, i know what it's like to be caught between stories! _

_liz: No Denethor isn't a complete bastard, he is only human after all and we must be understanding of the faults of humanness, to a point at least. I do not think that Denethor actually believed at any point that Aragorn murdered his child, only that he stole him away. As to Elrond, as i said to linda, Elrond's motives are far from obvious. In this case, though, he does seem pretty apathetic. At this point he is weary and trying his best to remain reasonable. Not only does his son show up with a surprise grandson not born of his intended (which of course would have really made Elrond lose it, irrecoverably so), but now the husband of the mother has tried to kill his son in his own realm. It is only because of thousands of years practice that he can remain sane during this trial, and because Erestor is not letting him get into habits of repression. _

_Jacinthe: Unfortunately, no, some people never do learn. As for the safety of baby and daddy, i can promise nothing :)_


	20. Needs Met

The entire day after all of the terrible commotion in the house Faramir seemed to be very restless. Undoubtedly he was very worried about his ada and daerada. When one of his uncles, he could not tell which one, laid him down beside Aragorn he immediately grasped onto his father's shirt and would not let go. Faramir was not used to his ada being unwell and he wanted to stay by him, making his displeasure obvious when anyone else tried to hold him for any reason other than feeding.

Elrond had been fussing about in Estel's chambers for about two hours before he finally left. Even after Aragorn woke and was determined to be all right, Elrond remained, as if he was unwilling to face whatever situation might lay ahead. He kept assuring his son that he would deal with Denethor in an appropriate manner and insisting that he not get upset or attempt anything rash himself. Taking revenge on the man who had just made an attempt on his life was not even a consideration for Aragorn, the only concern he had was that his son was safe. In fact, he was more than willing to let his father handle the situation, all Aragorn wanted was peace and as everyone kept fretting and bustling around him he wondered if it was a curse laid on him that he would never find peace, even in Imladris.

After a while the twins finally left their brother to get some rest and only Arwen remained. "I will go now also," she said softly. "Rest, my loves." She granted both Aragorn and sleeping Faramir a kiss and turned to go.

Aragorn caught her hand gently though. "Can you stay?" he asked.

She smiled warmly and resumed her place, whispering, "For you i can."

"I can not rest until i talk to you. I need to tell you what happened," Aragorn said. The uncritical questioning look in his beloved's eyes only served to remind him what weakness he had displayed. "Arwen, for you to forgive me so unconditionally... i still do not feel as though i am forgiven."

She gently took his hands in hers, kissing him again. "I love you and i trust you, Estel-nín. What you call indiscretion can not make this love diminish. It seems to me that you need to forgive yourself, and you must do so, for you have Faramir to look after now and he can not have his father forever feeling blameworthy around him."

"Nothing has ever made my love for you diminish, Arwen," Aragorn said in frustration, "and that is what plagues me so. Not for a moment did i forget you, but i was so weak that night! I know that you trust me, but I do not trust myself."

"Estel, you faltered but once in many long years, and that is much more than most could say." It concerned Arwen that her beloved suddenly bore so much self-doubt.

"But I should not have faltered at all," he said grimly. "You have not, after all. Nor has ada, and has it not been nearly 500 years since your naneth sailed West?"

"You can not compare this so," Arwen said sincerely. "Estel, I can not say that it is so much easier, but 30 years for me or 500 years for ada is not what it is for you. I know that your heart lies in truth and loyalty, and I would not see you so distressed of this."

"My heart may lie in loyalty, but I failed to follow my heart. If I fell so easily once, at such a small trial, what will happen to me should I be faced with stronger forces? The weakness is in my very blood. I know the price of my love for you, but how can I ever hope to be fit for the crown of Gondor, but by the shedding of my weak blood? And yet to think that Anarion's line is weaker yet than Isildur's. They say that the age of the Eldar is ending, but it looks as though the age of Men will fall before it begins. If I am supposed to be the finest of my race, if I am all my people have left, then they have no hope."

Aragorn's despondency utterly stung Arwen's heart, but she knew that there were times when words were of no use. Carefully she lay down beside Aragorn and his sleeping baby boy and stretched an arm around her beloved. Pressing her lips to his forehead, she whispered, "_estelin. Esto, mela-nín_."

ooo

For the first time in years Finduilas sat on the beach, watching the sun sink down into the sea. The orange glow reflected off the rolling waves, catching the highlights in her hair and making her look as if she glowed in the simple white beach dress she wore. The hem of the dress clung to her shins, still wet and sandy from the solitary seaside walk she had taken after dinner. As the last of the sun disappeared over the horizon she laid back, closed her eyes and just listened to the rush of the waves. None of her troubles were able to haunt her here.

Her son and brother had taken to each other even more than she'd hoped and her best friend had lost no time in just happening to chance upon her lover who was Imrahil's standard bearer and herald. She was able to go off all by her self without anyone trailing along for the first time in years. She felt a kind of freedom that she had been sure she'd seen the last of.

She heard someone walking along further down the beach, but she decided to try to ignore the intruder, surely he would only walk right by anyhow. She did straighten her dress a little, not wanting to look unseemly, though there was little she could do about her windswept hair.

As the man walked along the shoreline as he did every evening, he saw up ahead a woman lying in the sand. Certain his mind was playing tricks on him he decided to keep his eyes on the setting sun and the dolphins that played out by the horizon. His days were spent fetching and currying horses for the lords who lived in the grand house of the Prince of Dol Amroth, but his evenings belonged to only one. He walked along the shore at sundown, always with the vague hope that maybe he would see her if he just walked a little further on down the coast. When it grew too dark to walk he would lie down in the sand, staring up at the stars and ask the Valar why he still felt this way about a woman he knew was gone. Oh, but that woman up ahead reminded him so much of her that it made his heart clench with a bittersweet pain.

He tried so not to look her way, but she was just so noticeable in that delicate white gown that seemed to make her glow in the setting sun. For a few moments he allowed himself to indulge his fantasy, knowing all the while that it would only hurt more in the end, though it would ease his heart for the present.

Finduilas opened her eyes, looking up at the night sky as Elbereth's stars were kindled one by one in the twilight. She glanced up the beach to where she'd heard someone walking and had to look twice. She sat up, straining her eyes to get a better look. Somewhere in her heart a vault that she had not opened in years was unlocked and her heart beat wildly. She rose and started to walk toward the man, moving on blind hope alone. There was no one else it could possibly be she thought as she broke into a run on the wet sand. He, too, had sped up and in seconds that felt more like hours they were in each other's arms for the first time in seven years. No words of greeting were necessary, both of them were so choked with tears that speech would have been impossible anyhow.

"Finduilas!" he whispered as he held her tightly, fearing that if he let go she would disappear into thin air.

"Eldor...," was the only reply should could manage in a tear-strained voice. She held onto him as if drinking in all the time that they had been apart. "Only in my dearest dreams...," she started to say, but found it hopeless, all she wanted to do was hold him and know that he was still real.

ooo

_steelelf: Isn't Bori dear? I hope i shall be able to work more of him as a kid in, Fara' too._

_Elenhin: I have been thinking about how Boromir and Faramir are going to react to one another when they meet, too. I have a few different scenarios in mind, just have to see which plays out. Of course, right now little Boromir is too busy fighting sea-monsters and Faramir is too busy sleeping and learning how to tug on things._

_AM: I most certainly hope i can get more of Boromir and Imrahil into this. They really are great together and their scene partically wrote itself. That's what i like!_

_linda: Sometimes even in these days unions and reunions do not happen as frequently as we would like. And yet, that is not really a bad thing, absence truly does make the heart grown fonder._


	21. Sand and Stable

Eldor pulled back from their embrace only just enough to see Finduilas's face in the dying daylight. The stars rapidly appearing in the sky were mirrored in his eyes which matched the sea, whereas his hair matched the sand. "Is it really you or have i dreamed you into reality?" he asked unable to understand anything but that he was holding the woman who had haunted him for years.

"It is me; unless i, too, have dreamed you into reality," she said wearing the first genuine smile since the day she met Denethor. "I thought i would never see you again, Eldor."

"Every night i have walked this shore in hopes that by some chance i would see you, even just glimpse you from afar. I never thought i would have the chance to hold you again, no matter how i hoped. How can this be?" He did not truly care about the answer, she was here again and the gods had finally answered his many entreaties. He often thought that even if he did see her again, she would not be so receptive, but this was more than he had dreamed.

Finduilas did not respond, she just held onto him, drawing a comfort she had not experienced since leaving her home. "Eldor... all this time?"

"Of course, Finduilas. I promised you that i would always be here. Do you remember? When you came to say goodbye to me, i told you that if you returned in the day i would be in the stables, in the night, on the beach. And so i have been, every day, every night." Eldor was willing himself not to give in and take the kiss he wanted so much, not until he knew for certain that Finduilas wanted it as much.

He did not have to wait long to find out. Finduilas pulled herself closer to him again, nestling her forehead against his shoulder and breathing in his scent. So many old memories were wrapped up in that moment that she found herself unable to believe that it had been seven years since she last saw him. It all felt just as it did then, she felt comfortable and secure with Eldor. She felt as though she was the most beautiful woman in the world when he held her. In that time, Finduilas did not even recall that Denethor existed and she was a married woman. She met his gaze once again and moved forward, closing the slight gap between them and losing herself entirely in his kiss.

That night Finduilas never went back inside to her fine chambers. Instead she laid on the beach beside Eldor as together they watched the moon make it's way across the sky. As the hours wore on the moon set and they grew quiet and content. As the sky was beginning to grow lighter, Eldor found that Finduilas had fallen asleep there in his arms and he was powerless to wake her and end this dream come true. He feared what would happen when the sun rose again and retook control of the emotions that the moon had reigned over through the night.

Eldor's fears were baseless though. The moon had reawakened feelings in Finduilas that she had long hidden and denied, hiding them again would take much, much more work. As she slept, Finduilas dreamed of their meeting.

It had been the spring of 2975. It was rare that ladies of the house went riding alone and rarer still that a lady would walk her own horse to the stables, but Finduilas was a rare woman. Though she excelled in needlework, she was very often found in the library rather than in her sewing room. On fine spring days, when the weather was not yet warm enough to walk in the water, she often went riding, though she preferred to ride on her own. Most of the house had grown used to her independent flair, knowing full well that her brother was much the same and that they had both acquired it from their mother.

She walked her horse into his stall and went outside to pull up that handful of clover she saw by the door. In return for it she received a big, messy horse-kiss that made her laugh aloud. Her laughter startled the young man who was supposed to be tending to his lords' horses. He jumped to his feet, dropping the book about Westernesse he had been so ensconced in. Finduilas smiled gently to the man who looked tense. "My greetings," she said walking over to him. "I am Finduilas."

"Aye... i-i know," he said with an unsure bow. Her sweet laughter only made him more nervous.

"You do not have to be withdrawn with me. I am too quiet myself for others to be so also," she said with smile that seemed to belie her words. Instantly, Eldor began to feel much more comfortable and she sensed it. "You were reading something?" she asked conversationally.

Again he seemed to grow tense. "Yes, my lady," was all he said in a small voice.

Finduilas could tell that this man was one who had served others all of his life and feared to displease to the point that he was ashamed to have a life of his own. She could understand, for she too was compliant, never wanting to see others unhappy. "I very much enjoy reading as well," she said, hoping to put his fears to rest that she would disapprove; after all, there was no one else in the stable and all the horses seemed well tended.

There was a slight sparkle in his eyes as he turned to pick up the book, rather sorry that he had treated it so poorly. Books were quite a commodity for a man of his rank, as was the ability to read in itself. The stall he had been sitting in seemed to be an office of sorts, it had no door so clearly no horses were kept there, the hay was rather worn, giving the impression that it might serve as this man's bed, though he was well-kempt and did not look like an ordinary stable-boy.

"May i rest here for a moment?" Finduilas asked. Something in her wanted an excuse to sit with this man a little longer. He had certainly piqued her curiosity.

He merely nodded. Something in him dearly wanted this lady to stay a little longer, though he did not dare say it. He was having trouble saying much of anything really and was more than a little surprised when she sat down on the hay pile. She seemed so unpretentious, so... real.

"Of what were you reading?" she asked, drawing him from his daze.

"Westernesse," he answered automatically.

From there they spend nearly the entire evening talking of books they had read and places they had dreamed of. Eldor said he once dreamed that he was in Lothlorien, the former home of Amroth, and Finduilas was most interested in what the Elven realm had looked like in his dreams. She herself had once dreamed of Mithlond, a forested inlet of the sea at which stood a tall, beautiful tower. It was not until years later that she had read of the land of Círdan, described just as it had been in the dream that she'd had several times since her childhood.

The next day Finduilas came back to the stables, eager to see Eldor again and talk more with him. Every day she came to the stables, sometimes early, sometimes late, sometimes for hours, sometimes just to say hello when she had a moment. It was just that way for a year, and every time Finduilas departed again, Eldor cursed himself for not having the bravery to tell her that he loved her. Every night as she lay in bed, Finduilas promised herself that when she saw Eldor the next day she would finally confess her love to him.

The year passed and spring came again, and with it came a delegation from Minas Tirith. Through the winter, Finduilas had started to a grow a little downhearted. For as much as she knew she loved Eldor, never once had he said anything of the like to her, nor had he ever shown any affection beyond the friendly and pleasant. When she was introduced to the utterly charming warrior and Steward's heir Denethor a shadow of question fell on her heart. If Eldor did not love her as she did him, she felt she could not remain in Dol Amroth, so near to him, yet so very far. She also knew that her love for him would never be considered appropriate and even her dear brother had grown suspicious.

After a three week stay Denethor suddenly made an offer to Adrahil for his daughter's hand and both father and daughter accepted. Everyone in Dol Amroth was amazed by the news, if not terribly sorry that their beloved princess was to be moving so far so soon, since they were to leave at week's end. For the next three days Finduilas did not go to see Eldor, her friend Mithrellas kept her busy with packing and planning, though she did not seem overly fond of Lord Denethor herself.

Finduilas waited until the night before they were to leave to go to Eldor. She was doubtful that he would even be awake, no one else in her home was. Eldor was awake though. He was trying to read and failing miserably, he kept thinking of the rumor he'd heard that Finduilas was to marry that pompous Lord Denethor who had lectured him on how to care for his horse when he arrived. That was impossible though, how could his gentle, caring Fin' ever see anything in that overbearing, distrusting man? He was thrilled to no end that the arrogant bastard would be gone on the morrow, such behavior was not the way of the lords of Dol Amroth.

Eldor marked the page he was fruitlessly reading and rose when he heard the stable door creak open, a sound that over the last year had caused his heart to beat faster in hope that it was the beautiful lady Finduilas come to call. He smiled when he saw her come in, but it quickly faded as she was not smiling at all. "My Lady Fin'," as he had come to call her, "what troubles you?" he asked.

Often when something was troubling her she would hold him and cradle her head against his shoulder, but she did not this time. "Have you not heard, Eldor?" she said, her voice sounding unnaturally bitter for such a gentle woman. "I am no longer your lady, but Lord Denethor's."

It was a blow to Eldor's heart to hear it from her. He could not keep the hurt from showing in his eyes as agony spread through him. "Gods... Denethor?" he whispered, his voice shaking against his will. "Is this why they ordered a carriage ready in the morning?"

"Yes," she said, her own voice trembling fiercely. "I will be leaving with him. I am g-going to l-live in... Eldor!" she cried, breaking down, "i do not want to leave you."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. Oh, but he knew that had he just admitted that he loved her sooner this would not be happening. Seeing in her tears that she too loved him was a deep wound to Eldor. And yet, somehow, the words still stuck in his throat. Now she was to go to the great White City, and, though he could not imagine a life so far from the sea, he'd heard that it was a real wonder. The simple thought that he might never see her again frightened him so much though. "Finduilas...," he started, pulling back slightly and sounding as nervous as the day he met her. "I must tell you, if not now than never, but i have fallen in love with you. I know it is wrong of me, that is why i have not spoken of this to you until now. But i just could not see you go without telling you this. I may never have another chance, and if not then i should regret it until the end of my days. I am sorry if i should not have said -"

Finduilas's kiss stopped his words instantly, but for all the intensity of it, it was short lived, for her tears broke anew. "Eldor," she sobbed, "could you not have told me but a week ago! I had waited desperately for you to say those words to me and when you did not i thought that i... that i was the only one of us who loved and feared it to say."

"Finduilas... you... you mean to say that -" he stuttered.

"I love you, Eldor, yes i mean to say that. I have loved you, this past year, as i love the very sea. Only i, too, was afraid to tell you so."

"Oh, gods, Fin'... do not go. Do not go with him, please!" He held her tightly, as if to keep her with him forever.

She shook her sadly though. "I must now. I can not turn back on this, everyone has worked very hard that i could go so suddenly, and my father... he is so happy that i will be well cared for. Everyone is so excited, i can not disappoint them, it is my duty to them."

Eldor did understand, though his heart was broken. He held Fin' for a long time, wondering if he would see her again. He knew he had to be brave, in atonement for the cowardice he had shown all year since meeting her. "Finduilas," he said after a long while, his voice sounding as though he had not spoken in years, "i will be here, if ever you return, by day or by night. If you return in the day, you will find me here in the stables, if by night, you will find me by the sea. This is my pledge to you, and i swear to live true to this until my days are ended."

Finduilas said nothing, her heart as broken as Eldor's. She kissed him for what she was sure would be the last time, then hurried away without another glance. She wanted to keep the memory of their year unmarred. Seven years later, that memory was still untarnished and now, as she slept soundly in Eldor's arms, it was brighter than ever before.

ooo

_I know this chapter is really long and still contains nothing about lil Fara', i promise that will be rectified next chapter. I also (hopefully) promise that the next chapter won't take me this long to get posted. I did pretty much no writing over the long weekend and my mom went into the hospital on monday night, so i've been a little backlogged, though everything is ok. _

_I almost wanted to post this chapter as a one-shot of its own, but i felt that this relationship needed a proper explanation, story-wise. _

_linda: Aragorn has enough remorse to fill a sea, trouble is the poor guy keeps directing it inward and moving forward. _

_Elenhin: I keep not giving you Fara' and i am sorry for it, but i promise he will feature heavily next time! I would love to see them slay sea-monsters together, too._

_irene:Everybody wants more Faramir. I guess i haven't given much in the way ofvisuals on the little guy, perhaps i can do something about that._

_steelelf: Don't feel dense, i made that ending a little confusing on purpose. And no, i can not stand the pathetic Arwen that usually features in fan-fic, yet she isn't about to go riding all over Middle-earth and stealing people's well established roles either :)_


	22. Under the Trees

When Aragorn woke the morning after the ordeal with Denethor, his first thought was of his son. He was sure that Faramir had been beside him the night before, but now he did not see him. Then he heard his hungry little cry and all but flew out of bed to find him laying in the cradle that was still in the other room. Being close to his daddy helped Faramir ignore his hunger, but Arwen came in moments later to feed him anyhow. Erestor had been in just moments before Aragorn woke to draw him a hot bath and he was able to relax a bit as his beloved cared for his little boy.

The peace did not remain very long though. Once Faramir was fed and comfortable in Arwen's arms, he realized that once again he was with someone other than his daddy... and he didn't like it. He began to cry again, only this time there was nothing that Arwen could do to calm him. It did not help that Glorfindel, having just come in from keeping the border guard company, looked in and tried his hand at comforting the infant. Faramir's cries only intensified when Erestor came in glaring at Glorfindel for frightening the child.

No one was able to pacify the little Mortal and all three had different ideas about what would be best for him. Elrond was still sound asleep after taking a slight bit too much wine the night before and, fortunately, the twins were currently on detail near the former wine cellar turned prison cell. It was not until Aragorn emerged from the bath, clad only in a robe and still dripping, that Faramir settled down at all. It was quickly being learned that Faramir and Aragorn were almost totally dependent upon one another.

Finally beginning to feel like himself, Aragorn decided to take his little one out for a walk and show him their home. Arwen decided not to mention that she had already taken Faramir on several walks and that he was entirely enamored of Imladris's avian life more than anything. Aragorn found out for himself when a bright yellow bird sitting beside them on the porch rail caught Faramir's attention enough to make him and coo and laugh. The bird merely cocked his head in curiosity at Rivendell's newest addition and flew off again.

Faramir was rapidly approaching three months of age and Aragorn could only wonder what the rest of his little one's life had in store for him. It was a welcome change from wondering what his own life held for him since Elrond categorically refused to share any such information. Aragorn wondered if he could keep himself from having someone, if not himself, shadow his little boy everywhere as he grew up. He reminded himself, though, that the threat of Denethor was going to be dealt with by his adar, and when Elrond dealt with someone, the situation was considered put to rest.

A colorful butterfly came near and flitted about Faramir for a few moments, seemingly as interested in the child as he was it. He reached out to try to touch it, but seemed rather disappointed when it left to find other fields.

Faramir was growing and developing in new ways almost every day. Aragorn found himself always wondering about some new little thing that he had ever seen his baby boy do before, things that he had done and seen done for so many years he thought nothing of it. Now, though, something as simple as his son lifting his head when Aragorn spoke to him was amazing.

Aragorn could scarcely wait until the day he saw that dark-tufted head standing above his cradle rail and the though of his son calling him "ada" for the first time was overwhelming. For now, though, Faramir's laughter and curious gazes were more than enough to keep the new father enthralled.

Faramir began to grow a little sleepy after so much excitement and Aragorn decided that they could both do with a little rest. For the remainder of the afternoon, father and son sat under a tall, broad, shady tree. As Aragorn looked around the grounds and at the house, heard the river rushing and the birds singing songs that only birds in Imladris sang, and breathed in the scents of fresh, sweet earthen-life, it all told him that he was home. No matter what trial he'd endured, Imladris was always a panacea for his heart, mind, and soul. "_Yalluma mar_," Aragorn whispered to his little one, kissing his sleeping forehead.

ooo

It was not until that night that Elrond had felt quite ready to sort out the resident in his wine cellar. It had taken a good bit of thinking on his part and the half-Elf still felt he was being entirely too hasty, though he knew that the Mortal currently in his custody would not see it that way. It was in moments such as those when Elrond felt all too clearly just how much the world had changed so quickly in his years.

The flourishing realms of the Eldar, once covering Arda, were now reduced to four minor holds. Men now had dominion of much, though it was not that Elrond begrudged them the land, for the relatively few Elves left no longer needed it whereas Men who multiplied akin to rabbits surely did. It was just that it had all changed so fast and there were times when Elrond felt utterly isolated from the world. Though swiftly becoming weary, he missed traveling and seeing how life changed from land to land. He missed walking under the trees of different lands and learning new things from them.

The lingering effects of wine induced melancholia were exactly what Erestor had in mind when he intercepted Elrond from going to deal with Denethor immediately after the incident. That, Erestor had a strong feeling, was likely to end up in a war, whereas now, with Elrond's mood softened, he might be more likely to rationalize with Denethor on a man-to-man level.

Walking down to the wine cellar turned dungeon, a feature Elrond had never planned to have in his Homely House, the Elf-lord dismissed the twin guards, suggesting they find their brother and nephew. His sons were almost hesitant to leave their father alone with a madman, but Elrond assured them he had dealt with more difficult things than an irritated Steward-in-waiting.

Elrond walked into his once and future wine cellar fully prepared for rather from Denethor. Instead, the man seemed to be very patient. That made Elrond wary; Denethor should be irate, he had every right to be. But then, so too did Elrond.

"What method of execution do Elves employ?" Denethor asked calmly, though not without his usual scorn.

"Execution?" Elrond said, equally as patiently, making himself as comfortable as possible on an empty wine barrel. "The Eldar execute kindness, compassion, wisdom." Elrond loved to turn a phrase on one so unsuspecting.

"Let us cut through this posturing banter," Denethor said frustrated. "Thorongil raped my wife and i still expect some manner of restitution. If you would deny me what is rightly mine, you may as well finish me, because i will die seeking justice."

"It is said, Denethor, that there are two sides to every story. Sometimes one of those sides is a false image that we create in order to justify -"

"False image! The bastard child is all i need to justify -"

"You speak of justice, but you do not know the meaning of the word," Elrond said, starting to feel bitter about this. "I would speak to you not as Elrond Peredhel, but as a husband. Denethor, is it true that your lady wife asked you repeated that you consent to let her return to her home, and yet you denied her?"

"I did, of course. I did what any responsible husband would. I would not permit her to go riding all over Middle-earth. Perhaps here, where your lands are kept secure because it is Gondor that lies between you and Mordor, perhaps you know not of what danger there is in the world."

Elrond looked at Denethor for a long time, seeing his misguided intention to keep Finduilas safe. "What i know of the danger there is in the world is more than you could ever know, Denethor. What i know is that 473 years ago, my wife left Middle-earth because her heart, her fëa could not heal from being savaged by orcs. Every single day since i saw her brought back in my son's arms i have blamed myself, for letting her go home to her nana and ada in Lorien, for not going with her myself because i was 'too occupied', for not sending a stronger party, everything. But now that i have met you and seen what can happen if we attempt to keep our loved ones too close, i no longer blame myself. I see now that had i forced my wife to stay with me it would have withered her as much as her grief did. Do you not see, Denethor? A woman, like a rare bird, is not a thing to be caged and kept."

Denethor only looked disgusted. "Your wisdom is foolish, Elf. You tell me that i ought to have let my wife roam freely, yet you did as much and lost your wife."

"I did not lose her, i will go to her yet," Elrond said, sounding almost nearly distant. "But you have missed my point. I tell you that you ought to be more attentive to your wife's needs, lest she seek them elsewhere, as, to my eyes, it is clear she has already done."

"What do you know of this? My wife has lived as a queen since the day i married her!" Denethor growled.

"The trouble, Denethor, is that you have also lived like a king... yet you are not that. I know much that is hidden, and i know that your duties to Gondor come before all else to you, even before your own son. Go home, son of Ecthelion. You have no business here. Return to your wife and child, seek a home filled with joy, not a kingdom filled with order. Own your choices, for right and for wrong, and you will be a man. Amend the wrong and champion the right, and you will be a lord."

"I do not need your advice, nor your pity," Denethor spat. "I am a lord and man both, and while i may not be a king, i am Steward."

"You are not while your father lives," Elrond said, somehow keeping his patience. "Perhaps i should speak to you as a son. Come with me." Elrond showed Denethor outside where the stars shined through the leaves of the trees. They walked clear of the tree line and Elrond pointed to the brightest star in the night sky. "How far do you guess it to be from here to that star?"

"How should i know a thing like that? A billion leagues for all i know!" Denethor said in aggravation.

"Quite a bit more, actually. From here where i stand now, up there to that star, the brightest star, is actually how close i can ever remember being to my father," Elrond said. "I surely need not recount to you the tale of the Silmaril which Eärendil, my father, bears. There have been times in my life of terrific testing when i have looked up to see that light and felt everything from ire to heartbreak that i never in 6000 years had my father to guide me. You have your father still, and in that you are fortunate. You have a fine family, Denethor. I say to you again, Denethor, go home. I will have you escorted, this night if you wish, back to your men. I will go so far as to give you provisions to last you at least to Rohan, but with the terms that you leave immediately and not return to Imladris. I expect that this mercy should also be remembered outside of my borders."

"Do i take it that the great Captain Thorongil sent you to buy his life with mercy and some stale bread? Will the coward not face me and win his life for himself?" Denethor said, though he was beginning to sound weary and he was all but screaming at himself to take Lord Elrond's offer and flee home.

"My son is no coward. Were he such you would believe yourself a father of two sons still. It is you who is the coward, for you attacked him while he slept and i seem to have heard that you even threatened my grandson. I am rapidly losing my patience, Denethor, and wisdom would have you gone quickly. I have already been vastly more merciful than i believed i could be to someone who threatened my son's life in my own home, and likely i have only been so in the name of diplomacy. But since i have attempted speaking to you man-to-man, i begin to believe i ought to deal with you in the same way - no titles to hide behind. Your next move shall influence my choice heavily."

For some while there was a silent stalemate as Denethor weighed up Elrond's power against his own oft over-inflated ego. Finally, with a glare and a sneer he said, "I would not spend another moment of my life in this place, not now nor ever again. Bring this guide that you speak of and permit me to be gone from here without delay." It was Denethor's way of admitting defeat. Elrond nodded and escorted Denethor back to the house where the twins were waiting, the supplies Elrond mentioned already prepared with three horses ready to go.

"If we tell him that it is not safe enough to ride when we get toward the border," Elrohir whispered to Elladan, "we can guide him to the snare... let him dangle there for a while, say until he passes out from screaming for our help."

"'Ro, subtlety is not your strong suit, is it?" Elladan said. "For one, can you even envision what ada would say, let alone do, if he found out we did that? Moreover, it would be a lot more devious to lead him no where near the snare and yet give him the impression that we expect one to grab him up at any moment. Work on their minds, 'Ro;" he said, tapping at his temple,"trust me, i've listened to Erestor."

"I would thank you two not to forget who else has the ability to listen," Elrond said, causing his boys to start, having not heard him approach. "But, that aside," he whispered, "i agree with 'Dan. Now, if you will please accompany Lord Denethor back to his troops and see them _safely_ off..."

"Aye, ada," they said in unison voices. Elrohir slyly picked up a length of rope as he headed toward Denethor who was waiting impatiently by the horse which was to bear him along the dark night's paths.

ooo

_Yalluma mar - At last, home_

_Elenhin: Hope you enjoyed seeing some more little Faramir. At this point it is so hard to work him in, there is so much plot development going on and he's so tiny and sleepy and hungry, but he is growing up fast and will soon be getting into all manner of fun and mischief._

_AM: A lot of Fin's choices she made because she felt she had to. There can be much conflict between decisions of the mind and decisions of the heart._

_steelelf: I will probably bounce back and forth between stages for a while longer. I try not to let one scene go on too long before getting back to the other._

_linda: It is a pity she didn't marry Eldor, they would have been very happy. But, fate has it's say,she did not marry him and now we shall have to see what comes of it. All in all, i wouldn't say that Eldor was her lover at any point, yet, but they did have a relationship. The problem probably was more that he was not truly her lover before Denethor came along. Thanks for asking about my mum, she is doing better._

_liz:) Don't give up, that's too easy! I can tell you that little has gone well for Denethor because he has not made much of an attempt to see to it that things go well for others, just as Elrond attempts to clarify to him. Besides, does anything ever go well when you utilize a palantir aligned with one which the Dark Lord is in possession of?_


	23. Naneth!

Elladan and Elrohir led Denethor along, his borrowed mount's reigns tied to theirs; the twins were not in the mood for taking any risks, even though they rode flanking Denethor so closely their thighs brushed. It was a dark night, a new moon was in hiding making itself ready to begin to grow again, and few stars other than Eärendil shone. The only real light was the faint glow of the two Elves and after crossing the ford they pulled on their cloaks, robbing Denethor entirely of sight.

"This is madness, one cannot ride on in this darkness!" he protested, pulling back on the reigns to get his horse to stop.

"Madness," Elrohir snickered under his breath. Clearly Denethor did not know much about the Terrible Two.

"We can see perfectly well," Elladan said nonchalantly. Neither of the brothers stopped and so the horse unfortunate enough to bear Denethor was obliged to carry on with them.

"Be that as it may, i can not and if anything in the road, presuming we are on a road, should trip this horse it could be the death of me," Denethor grumbled.

"'Dan, suppose this villain is correct," Elrohir said. "The hunters did set a snare last week and it has not caught anything yet. Suppose poor Ellintë gets caught, that orc trap would have her hanging up there in a tree." Elrohir had a feeling that Denethor would not know that there was no such thing as a hunter in Imladris and no such thing as an "orc trap."

"Where did they set the trap, 'Ro?" Elladan asked.

"Well...," Elrohir looked around, "I think it was in this area... somewhere. I was not with them, you remember, we were on patrol."

"'Ro," Elladan said wearily, "this is not were they set the snare, that is out by the border. This is where they dug the postholes to discourage the rabbits."

"Oh, nothing to worry about then," Elrohir said merrily.

Denethor swallowed nervously. It was well know what would happen if a horse put a hoof in a post hole and it often meant the death of both horse and rider. He was rapidly wondering why he did not ask Elrond if he could spend just one more night in his cozy wine cellar and leave with the morning light. Most unnerving was the fact that the two Elves escorting him seemed wholly unconcerned. They would make his inferiority a point when it was his life on the line.

It seemed like hours, but eventually the three riders did make it safely to the border where a contingent of Rivendell's finest were chatting amiably in the camp where Denethor's soldiers stayed, patiently awaiting their captain's return. Denethor was beside himself.

ooo

At that moment there were two other riders approaching Imladris from the north. Neither were concerned about riding in the night, but only one was Elda. Gilraen rode with Gildor from the home she had established for herself in Eriador back to her sanctuary. Gildor had timed everything perfectly so that they had no chance of running into Denethor. Such a situation would not have been advantageous to Gilraen.

When the Dúnedan woman saw the Elf lord approach she went out to meet him, hoping her son was sending word, or at least Elrond was sending word of her son. It had been so many years since she had seen her child, so many nights she feared for his safety. It was rare that he ever had a travel companion and sometimes she could not help but fear that if anything ever happened to Aragorn she might never even know about it. It was useless to try to persuade him to take more care, Aragorn's idea of caution was using a different name in every town, and she was eternally grateful that Mithrandir often kept an eye on him for her.

As soon as Denethor and his troops moved off and were out of sight of the twins the watch group returned to the house and sent out the next picket. When they arrived the twins then headed north in hopes of catching up with Gildor and Gilraen. They had made it a point to visit her as often as patrols and other circumstances permitted after she left the valley to make her own home. In the years that she had spent in Imladris with Estel she had become something of a second mother to the twins and they both loved her greatly. Though no one could ever replace their own naneth, as hard as they fought to avenge her was nearly as hard as they fought to protect Gilraen. Indeed, with her simple and down-to-earth manner, she was beloved of all of Imladris.

The condition of morality, though not in anyway unfamiliar to Elladan and Elrohir, was brought back to them when they saw Gilraen again. Though still very vital woman, age had started to make contact with her and the twins were reminded that she had already lived three-quarters of a century and that, for Men, even of Dunedan blood, that was not young. Still, they were glad to see her again as she was them.

Her first question was, naturally, of her son's well-being and interests. Gildor truly had not much he could relay to her, as he only saw him briefly on the road and noted not much more than the usual weariness of a Ranger.

Elladan smiled and answered rather carefully, "Estel has... _flourished_, nana Gil'."

Onward the four rode through the night, Gilraen not wanting to stop when they were so close. It was mid-night when they arrived at the House and Gilraen was greeted warmly by Elrond and Erestor. Aragorn was already asleep, though he would not have been had he known his mother was due in that night. Erestor had her rooms prepared and a hot bath drawn, as he usually did when someone was arriving after a long journey, and once greetings were exchanged, she went there directly for rest.

The next day at the morning meal Aragorn came in a bit late, having waited until Faramir was having his breakfast and so distracted by the only thing that ever made his attention leave his ada: food. Aragorn thought he had probably learned more in the last three months than any living man could have learned in 300 years. Raising a child, though he loved Faramir with every bit of his heart, was proving to be a rather tricky pursuit. If he did not time his departure at just the right moment, Faramir would know that his father was no longer in the vicinity and would cry in such a way that made Aragorn feel as though he was abandoning his baby if he so much as walked down the hall. He now very clearly understood why it took _two_ people to create one of these little people. Creation was the easy part, he had a fair idea that it would take an _army_ to raise one.

Aragorn was so groggy that at first he noticed nothing different about the breakfast table. There was food upon it and that was all that entered his mind until he'd had a few bites. Soon, though, the fact that everyone grew quiet when he entered and had not spoken since descended upon him. He glanced furtively at his brothers first, always his prime suspects. They merely wore amused smirks. That disconcerted him, and he looked to his father for an explanation. Elrond wore a warmer version of the twin's grin. Aragorn's eyes cast about the food laid out, wondering if he hadn't slept until supper and come rather informally dressed. He examined himself as well and concluded that he was definitely presentable enough to avoid disgrace of any kind. He was looking up, for the first time that morning, across the table where Erestor usually sat, expecting to get a straight answer out of the advisor, when he dropped his fork and his jaw simultaneously.

"_Naneth_!" he cried, all but leaping over the table to hug his mother tightly.

Gilraen kissed his temples and held her boy close. She had been so tempted to look in on him when she arrived in the night, but she sadly reminded herself that he was, in actually fact, all grown up. Now, though, she was very hard pressed to let go of him. "You do not travel mornings when you are so bleary, do you, my little acorn?" she asked loving, employing her nickname for him from years ago.

"Nana...," Aragorn half-complained, though in truth it nearly brought tears to his eyes, especially when he thought that he had his own little acorn now. Finally he remembered how hungry he was and sat back down to eat, at least to prove to his mother that he was eating enough, though he didn't mention that that was usually only the case when he was in one place for more than three days at a stretch. Breakfast had suddenly become a lively affair and years worth of news was traded all around. After a while, though, Glorfindel came in to tell Aragorn that there was someone upstairs who needed him as soon as possible.

"Gods! I promised him i would only be a few minutes! Stay here, i will be back," he said jumping up and sprinting halfway across the room before stopped suddenly. "No, wait, come with me nana, please? There is someone who i want you to meet."

ooo

_Naneth - mother_

_Elenhin: Faramir should start growing up pretty soon. Once all the major action is done i can get on to the years as he grows up, i will probably go through those in sketches, until we get to some more major action (but i'm not telling!) But even still, Fara' can't help but be dear, even when all he does is scream for his daddy and eat and sleep._

_linda: Father and son are very close. Time will tell how that bond lasts in years to come._

_steelelf: He's a cute little bugger, no doubt. Were i the artist i once practiced to be i could sketch him, but, alas, i have only my words to paint with. Hopefully they give you a good picture. Babies kinda all look a lot alike to me, so i don't really know how i could get really descriptive just now._


	24. The Unexpected

Immediately upon formally being free from the borders of Imladris, Denethor ordered his company to make ready to leave at once. Many of the soldiers had already taken to their sleep for the night and were not at all happy about having to get up again and leave camp in the middle of the night. They were only slightly thankful that Denethor did not insist on official protocol, in too much of a rush was he to get away from anything remotely Elven.

They rode on in the dead of night for maybe five miles before Denethor was comfortable enough to allow them to make camp again. His pavilion was erected first and he went there immediately, refusing to allow anyone else near. Denethor was in a temper, perceiving it as a personal slight that his soldiers not only did nothing to come after him, but also socialized with the Elves on guard.

The next day they began in earnest the journey home. Denethor had much to think on indeed, but it seemed that all of Elrond's observations regarding his mannerisms with others served only to make the Gondorian lord all the more bitter.

For the entire month that they were traveling south, every man in Denethor's company was looking forward to arriving in Rohan more than anything else. For more than two solid months they had been on the road and it was only the fact that they were soldiers of Gondor that kept them from mutiny. When Denethor ordered that they circumnavigate Edoras, however, Mordor nearly broke loose in the ranks. He would have none of it, though - Denethor would not stop in Théoden's realm, much less his own home, for a moment more than was necessary. He deemed the King of Rohan a traitor for stalling him when he rode through the last time, causing him to lose his quarry. Instead he and his weary men crossed this River Isen and carried on for the next two weeks to their own home.

As Denethor crossed the Isen he could not shake the same feeling he'd had the last time he was there. It was the feeling of being watched closely, searched, judged, even read. As far as Denethor was concerned, the sooner he got home the better, and he did not intend to leave his precious city again any time soon. When they did get back to Minas Tirith that sentiment was further backed by the ailing Ecthelion, who personally gave the soldiers who had been away a two month leave.

Denethor saw that move as a clear statement that their power-struggle was not at all over. It took much restraint to deliver his report to his father even as weary as he was. When Denethor left his father in search of his son, however, no amount of weariness could tone down his ire. He had not even considered in all that time how he would approach Finduilas, let alone if he would even cast a glance her way again; when he learned that she had gone to Dol Amroth with Boromir and Mithrellas, riding under the Steward's banner and with his personal escort, Denethor very nearly injured his father in his rage.

Ecthelion was not one to be cowed by any though, certainly not his own son. He absolutely refused to sanction so much as one single soldier to go to Dol Amroth. If Denethor went, he would go alone, for it was a personal matter and _Ecthelion_ would not spend his realm's resources for the benefit of one, not as long he was charged with the _Steward_ship of Gondor.

Two days later Denethor set out again, alone, for Dol Amroth. He was now thinking very heavily on just what he would say to his wife.

ooo

Aragorn practically dragged his mother up to his chambers to meet Faramir. Gilraen really had to wonder what it could be that brought out of the toughened Ranger the excited little boy she once knew.

Arwen was on the balcony holding Faramir and trying her best to soothe him. She thought that perhaps the songs of birds that he enjoyed so would calm him but clearly no bird was a match for his daddy. Aragorn gently took his son from his beloved's arms and kissed him; almost instantly the baby boy hushed. Arwen had to smile; evidently Elf-magic had nothing on the magic of a father.

She was also glad to see Gilraen again, as Aragorn's mother had all along supported them wholeheartedly; their love reminded her so of the long gone days when Arathorn courted her, quite against her father's wishes. Had Elrond devoted the time to think on it, he might have remembered how uncomfortable Celeborn had been with the notion of his only little princess marrying a _half_-Elf. Arwen kissed Aragorn on the cheek and left to go to breakfast.

"Nana," Aragorn said, bringing his little boy back inside to meet his grandma, "this is Faramir, my son."

"_Your_ son?" Gilraen asked, uncertain she heard right. In truth, Gilraen was more in shock than anything. She was not sure of how these things worked for Elves, but she was rather certain that female Elves had to make a conscious decision to conceive, or so folklore said. More likely the child was a foundling that her son had taken under his wing and come to think of as his son, just as Elrond had him.

"Aye, nana," Aragorn said, smiling contentedly at his baby as he watched him visibly getting sleepy.

"How can this be?" Gilraen asked.

Aragorn looked up slowly, realizing that he had once again made the mistake of introducing someone to Faramir before letting them hold him. Once someone held him, they automatically fell in love. He was surprised that in less than a week he had gone from hiding his child under his cloak to having no reservations about calling him his son. He had no doubt that his mother would love Faramir, her first grandchild, very dearly, but he saw that yet again he would have to explain how he came to be a father.

"Will you hold him for me just a moment?" Aragorn said, resting Faramir in his mother's arms before she had a chance to respond. He disappeared momentarily into the next room to get a warmer blanket to wrap his little one in, meanwhile Faramir made a sleepy grasping motion toward Gilraen's long graying hair. By the time Aragorn came back his mother was cradling his son close and Faramir was all but asleep. He also noticed his mother's split moment of hesitation when it came to passing Faramir back to his father.

After he put Faramir down to sleep he asked his mother to walk with him in the garden. Erestor, just passing the chambers, was asked to sit with Faramir until they returned. He was more than happy to, rather extraordinary for an Elf who was known for going to extremes to avoid interruptions of his work.

It did not take a long walk for Aragorn to give his explanation, he was well rehearsed in it by that time. Gilraen sighed and sat down on a bench under an oak. "I have waited long to hear that i would be a grandmother. I just did not expect it to be this way."

"Nor did i, naneth," her son said sitting beside her. "But what is, is, and i love my son more than anything upon Arda."

"So do i, my little acorn," Gilraen said, hugging her son. "You love him and have taken responsibility for him. That is all that matters."

"You truly have the grace of the Eldar, nana, and i love you, too," Aragorn said sincerely. "I am glad that you are here now, i so wanted for Faramir to know his daernana."

"It would be too dangerous for you to correspond with his mother, would it not?" Gilraen said.

Aragorn had decided not to mention the visit from Finduilas's husband he had received, as he saw no need to worry her. "It would be dangerous written, unfortunately i can not just send forth a thrush as they do in Dale. But moreover it may not even be possible. The Lady Finduilas was not a well woman, that was much of the reason i agreed to take Fara'. I truly do not know if the lady lives even now."

"I only ask because i know that were i in her place i would be in a terrible state of worry. But you have reached your haven and you must not chance risk now. Faramir will be safe here, as will you. Perhaps now i might prevail upon you to cease wandering far and wide?" Gilraen said hopefully.

Aragorn smiled and hugging his mother said, "This acorn has not yet set down it's roots, though i do not suppose i will be going anywhere for some while. I shall be content to stay around for another 20 years or so and raise my son. May i, perchance, prevail upon you to quit your home out in the middle of nowhere and come here to help your little acorn raise his own acorn?"

Gilraen kissed her son upon the brow. "I can not quit my home, child, it has become a matter of principle for me. I will come here often though, you have my word. Now, i would like to see my grandson again. Do you know how very like to you he is?" she said as they walked back into the Last Homely House.

ooo

_Elenhin: I really hate it when plaster falls from the ceiling. I once had not only plaster but also rain falling from my ceiling. I really hated it. Anyway, i do promise that there will be plenty of both little Fara' and Bori'. In fact, i think Bori might show up a good bit in the next chapter. _

_steelelf: Uh-oh? Oh, i don't think Gilraen is that bad:)_

_linda: She is usually not only totally neglected but dead at a very early age. My story may be AU but i don't see the need to go changing everything around. I really try to make my changes fit in with everything else canonically, to me, that is the creativity of good AU. I'm glad Denethor is finally leaving Imladris, too, but we have not heard the last of him. Thanks for the correction, also. Sometimes my fingers get moving so fast trying to keep up with my mind that they automatically type something another way, and then, as you said, Word doesn't pick up on it. At work i make sure that three people proofread our publications, i should employ the services of a beta for this stuff, but i am too impatient to get stuff posted._


	25. In Which Boromir Battles a Sea Monster

Dol Amroth

There was a slight chill in the air as Finduilas woke on the beach. It looked like it would be a rainy day and she pulled herself closer to the source of warmth beside her. She felt a kiss pressed her to temple and raised her head to return it. It was still hard for her to believe that she had spent the night beside Eldor; it was not so long ago that she was sure she would never see him again.

"Fin'," he whispered, "I must soon return to my horses." He was reluctant to go, but he knew that all of his wishes and pleas had already been answered and than some - he had seen her again.

"Aye, and I must return to my little boy," she said, forcing herself to sit up and stretch. Sleeping on the beach was not as easy as it was when she was a child.

"You have a son?" Eldor said. Though they had spent the entire night together, neither had discussed such matters.

"Yes, I do. He is five years old already." There was an unexpected sadness that overwhelmed Finduilas when she thought that she had another son, too, but knew not if he even survived. It was not to be discussed though, she decided.

Eldor could not help but note her sadness and, as much as he detested bringing up the subject, he could not linger without knowing. "Finduilas. I know that this is a dream come true, but how long shall this sweet dream last? What of Denethor?"

"I do not love him, that is what of him," she replied unhappily. "I no longer want anything to do with him. I am here now only because he rode away for some while. He should be to Edoras by now and he may carry on from there; if he does, I do not expect him to find that I have left Minas Tirith until at least summer's end. If he returns from Edoras, he may be here in a month's time. I do not wish to return with him, ever. Though... that choice may not be mine."

"I should have fought for you the last time. If you ask it of me, I will fight for you this time," Eldor said with no small amount of conviction.

"I can not ask it, Eldor. Nor can I blame him, he has provided richly for me and he dotes upon Boromir. My only fear is that, if I go back to Minas Tirith, I shall not long be able to withstand the Shadow that looms from Mordor. I was desperately weak when I started out to here and only now have I come to feel well again. But I have no real right to be away from my home; I have the leave of the Steward, but not my husband."

"You are correct, Finduilas, you ought not to be away from your home. But it is Dol Amroth that is your home, and no woman should have to seek the leave of her husband to be in comfort. He keeps you against your will." Eldor knew that he needed to remain composed, but he could not help his temper rising. To think of that loutish man treating his adored Finduilas unjustly was a sore trial for him. There was but one thing that could alleviate his irritation.

"Let us not cross that bridge until we come to it," Finduilas said gently, kissing Eldor. "For at least the next month I wish to live as though I had never so much as heard of him."

Eldor's outrage abated instantly as he nuzzled her soft hair. "The stables by day, the beach by night," he said and moved away. Finduilas returned then to the castle of the Prince of Dol Amroth.

The summer spent in Dol Amroth was a much needed holiday for all involved. Finduilas continued to meet Eldor each night, just as she had before she met Denethor, not necessarily secretly, but not overtly either. Many a night he would read to her or they would simply talk of by gone days. Finduilas spoke much about Boromir and Eldor agreed that he and his uncle were two of a kind, having seen them at play many an afternoon.

Boromir was becoming quite adept at sea-monster hunting, as well as other seaside-oriented pursuits such as sandcastle building (and destroying, provided it was a stronghold of the enemy, of course). In the years since his father's passing, Imrahil had kept himself so busy with his office that he often neglected to have fun once in a while. Now that Boromir was here, however, he was making up for lost time with a passion. Work was suddenly not so important that he had to handle each detail personally and delegating cut his workload down to one or two hours worth that he could accomplish easily after dinner.

His wife, Eärwen, was thrilled and told Finduilas that she was no longer concerned that their coming child would not know his father until he one day wandered into his study and wondered who was that man he'd never seen before. Eärwen, for her part, adored Boromir just as much as Imrahil did and she wished dearly for a little boy of her own, though all the symptoms predicted by the old wives seemed to indicate that she would bear many girls. Still, Eärwen was fairly sure she knew why they were called old wives tales and not old _mothers_ tales. Seeing her husband truly come to life again told her that a child would have naught but good influence on Imrahil. Eärwen was so excited to be with child and due at harvest that Finduilas decided to spare her the horror stories that her two pregnancies were for her, she liked her brother's wife greatly and was very happy for them.

Everyone spent the summer in joy and contentment that they had not known in many years. One evening in late August Boromir sat cuddled with his mumma, listening as she sang of Nimrodel and Amroth. As she finished, Boromir looked up at her and asked, "Mumma, can we stay here always? I like it here so much more than at home."

Finduilas noted that her brother looked up at her from across the room as if the same question had been on his mind. "I know, Bori, I do too. Time will tell how much longer we stay, but for now let us just enjoy the time we have here." Finduilas knew by now that Denethor had attempted to track Thorongil and Faramir to Rivendell. She begged the gods that they would reach sanctuary before he caught up with them, and yet she wondered what would become of Denethor if he and his soldiers attempted to trespass into the Elven land. There was so much speculation and it was a major possibility that Denethor would not come back alive. By her guess, if he simply went to Rivendell, was denied entrance, and turned around, he would likely have made it back to Minas Tirith and discovered their absence already. If he had left at once, she expected him to arrive in another two weeks. She refused to agonize over it though, if this holiday was to be short-lived, she intended to make the most of it.

It was very much as Finduilas had reckoned. Only just two weeks later a rider arrived in the city on a very rainy afternoon. Guards at the Prince's residence did not question the rather bitter man because he wore the emblem of the Citadel of Minas Tirith. He went, much as he did in the House of Elrond, from room to room until he found who he was looking for. Finduilas was resting in her sitting room, reading by the window that looked out on the sea.

For a moment Denethor stood there staring at her, she had not yet noticed him. She was more beautiful and well-looking than he recalled ever seeing her. The thought that maybe it was not incorrect what the Elf-lord said about his actions, or rather inactions, causing the circumstances flashed in his mind, but still he refused to believe it. It was he who had been wronged in all of this; never mind that he acted first and asked questions later.

Slowly Denethor stepped into the room, resentment in every breath. "So, you do not even acknowledge your husband now?" he asked acidly.

"Hello, Denethor," she said evenly, setting aside the book she had been reading.

"Oh, I was not aware that we were on such _familiar_ terms. Clearly I mean nothing to you, so I suppose I should not be surprised that the High Princess of Dol Amroth feels no need to show any _deference_ to her lord."

"I will not dispute that, but I should say in my defense that I felt it rather pointless to continue caring for you once you clearly stopped caring for me."

"Defense? No, you have no defense. So, I find that the child you told me was dead really lives and is not my son, but the son of _Thorongil_, of all people. Then I come home to find that you have defied me and left behind my back, and not only that, but then I learn that you have betrayed me and made a fool of me yet again with a stable boy. What else are you willing to lower yourself to?"

It ordinarily took a great deal to make Finduilas angry, but false accusations did. She stood to face her husband head on. "Understand this, Denethor, I never once spoke the words that my child did not live. Moreover, I have never slept with Eldor in the way that you imply. If that is what your seeing stone tells you than you are allowing yourself to be deceived."

"Do not speak to _me_ thusly, woman!" Denethor growled. "You may stay in this place for as long as you want, rot here and I will not care. I should have sent you back here years ago. I no longer have any need for you. I will take _my_ son and be gone."

"No, Denethor, you will not. Boromir will stay here with me until he comes of age, after that the decision will be his. You may visit him here, if you should be so inclined."

"He is my heir! He will return to his home with me, along with the Steward's escort."

"Why, so that you can further delude yourself into believing that you are already Steward, just one short step away from the Crown of Eärnur?" Finduilas said bitterly.

"That is treason," Denethor hissed, taking a menacing step closer to his wife.

Just then Imrahil and Boromir came to Finduilas's chambers. They had been entertaining each other indoors since it had been raining, and they still managed to get in a bit of "sword practice" in. Boromir took one look at the figure that looked to be threatening his mumma, clad in green and still dripping wet, he remembered his uncle's description of a sea-monster as "green and dripping and gooey" and there was no question in the boy's mind. Rushing forward with his little wooden waster, he shouted, "Sea-monster! Leave my mumma alone!"

Denethor turned instinctively with his hand raised as if to hit away whoever was causing this disturbance without even realizing that it was his own son. Imrahil, however, was faster and caught Denethor's arm, rather tighter than was necessary.

"Greetings, Denethor," Imrahil said tersely.

Boromir was utterly confused, when he looked up into the face of the "sea-monster" he saw his father. He had been wondering when he would be joining him and mumma, but as Denethor was often kept busy it did not faze him much. He wondered just how serious a breach of etiquette it was to call the heir to the Stewardship a sea-monster.

"I would advise you to step away, Denethor. When all are in a suitable frame of mind, perhaps we can discuss things rationally. Step outside and ask one of the guards to see you to the guest quarters," Imrahil suggested rather strongly, refusing to let go of Denethor's arm until he nodded his acceptance of the Prince's terms. Imrahil sighed deeply. "And I thought that storm season had ended."

ooo

_Is everyone enjoying these super-fast updates? The writing bug has got me, enjoy it while it lasts, i can make no promises that this will go very long._

_grumpy: Aragorn always thinks the twins are up to something, and he is usually right._

_linda: You have to feel sorry for Denethor's soldiers, but Ecthelion does know how to handle things. Aragorn is rapidly learning a lot of things about babies, but as we all know, as soon as you get things figured out, invariably, they change again._

_Elenhin: Do you really have a bow? Sweet! I've fired a few arrows in my time. I tend to overshoot my marks though. Don't know my own strength i guess. Boromir and Faramir are definitely going to get together in the future, i could not keep them apart. It remains to be seen, however, how they will react to each other - but is just because i like to keep you all guessing :) It doesn't seem like much of a stretch that Denethor might never have held Faramir as a baby, in historical times like that parents in nobility often had little to do with their children. I must say, you read me rather well in advance of this chapter though!_

_steelelf: Your reviews are your way of telling me so. Seriously, a review that says nothing but "i like this story" still makes my day. I really appreciate hearing from readers. I know there are more people reading than reviewing and i am sometimes guilty of that myself,but just letting me know that you don't think i have gone off the deep end (or even that you) matters. _


	26. Farewell

For two hours the next day Finduilas and Imrahil traded extortions with Denethor over Boromir's future. Finduilas rejected Denethor's offer to tell her what had become of her second born in exchange for custody of his firstborn. Her fear was that she might lose both sons by that deal. But in the end it came down to a political/defense decision for Denethor, without the manpower of Dol Amroth, Minas Tirith would not stand a chance against an attack, particularly now that relations with Rohan were growing tense. Finduilas felt a bit guilty for not asking what Boromir wanted, but the thought of her child growing up under the Shadow of Mordor was not acceptable.

The rest of the day Denethor spent in his chambers readying to leave with dawn the next day. He watched out the window as Boromir and Imrahil played on the beach for hours. He could not recall Boromir ever being that happy with his many gifts and such. He saw Boromir run to Imrahil for comfort when he'd fallen and scratched his knee. Suddenly all the bitterness and hate he had rode in with was gone, as if a spell was broken, and Denethor only now realized what he had just bargained away.

He went to Finduilas's chambers, now much more humbly than before. He offered an apology and begged her to change her mind about their son. She would not though, for her the damage had been done.

"Why, Finduilas? He is my _son_! You cannot do this to me," Denethor pleaded. Once a snarling and sneering prideful man, he was now nothing short of wretched.

"I have lost one child, Denethor," Finduilas said, "i can not lose Bori', too. But more than that, i can not see him grow up at Mordor's gate. Nor can i forgive you for using that seeing stone as you do. It is altogether dangerous and until Bori' is grown, in no clear conscious can i let him go back there. The front line of an impending war is no place for a child. If you wish to come here to see him, i will not say aught -"

"My father is nearer death than ever before," Denethor cut in miserably. "Once he is dead and i am Steward, i shall not be able to leave the city. But you know that."

"It is not my intention to keep you from him, but to keep him from danger," Finduilas said sympathetically.

"I believe it might be best if i leave before dawn, then. I am sorry that so much has gone so wrong, Fin'. I know it comes too late, but... i do love you."

"Goodbye, Denethor," was all that Finduilas said.

Denethor went the with all that he had come with to the beach where Imrahil and Boromir were engaging in the strategic fortification of a sand village populated mostly by seashells. The fortification was necessary to keep the seaweed out, of course.

Imrahil glared at the intruder but Boromir jumped up, checking himself with a bow first before rushing forward to ask if his father had come to help them build their fort. Denethor did not trust his voice at the moment and only nodded. Boromir eagerly lead him over to show him all the interesting things about the sand village, the sea-monster incident entirely forgotten. Denethor smiled weakly at Imrahil, who did not return the greeting at all. Boromir urged his father to sit with them on the sand, insisting that he couldn't possibly play from "all the way up there." Denethor complied, awkward though it was for him, the heir to the Stewardship, to be sitting on sand.

Boromir explained that the seaweed was the enemy which they were working to keep away from the seashells, which were the ladies of the town. He held up a big blue scallop and said, "this one is mumma because it looks just like her blue cloak and is so pretty."

"Make sure that she has extra protection, Bori'," Denethor said in a soft voice.

"Oh, she does, lots!" Boromir assured his father enthusiastically.

"You have everything well in hand here, little soldier; i think i am just getting in the way, so i shall go now," Denethor said, effecting the voice of a commander as best he could at the moment.

"I thought you were leaving on the morrow," Imrahil said, trying not to sound too unpleasant.

"I see no point in remaining here," Denethor said simply.

"Father? Where are you going?" Boromir asked.

"I am going home, child," Denethor said unhappily. "Your grandfather needs me... Gondor needs me. You will be well here with you mumma and uncle and aunt."

"I thought you were going to stay with mumma and i here for a while," his son asked in confusion.

"Mumma and _me_, Bori'," he corrected gently. "I intended for us to be together, but it cannot be just now. I must go to grandfather for he is still unwell."

"Like mumma was before we came here?" Boromir asked.

"Yes, like that."

"Maybe grandfather could come here and get well again like mumma did," Boromir suggested.

"We shall see, little one." Denethor held out his arms to his son the way Boromir always did when he wanted to be lifted up and he held him tightly, pressing a kiss to his brow. "I love you, Boromir. I love you very much."

"I love you, too, father. Tell grandfather i love him, too." Boromir said happily.

"I will. Goodbye, little one." Denethor was fighting with all he had to keep from shedding the tears that were nearly choking him as he put his son down and walked away.

There was one further challenge that Denethor knew he needed to get through as he headed to the stables to fetch his horse. Eldor stopped currying one of Prince Imrahil's chargers when he heard the door swing open. He recognized Denethor but remained impassive. The man no longer looked much like the haughty captain who rode in one day seven years ago, lectured him on how to care for a horse, and rode out with his beloved. Still, Eldor bowed to him, but he didn't have to like it.

Denethor nodded in return and asked him to ready his horse for the return trip.

"Yes, my lord. May i suggest that his lordship take his ease as it may take me a few moments to have her ready," he said, only just managing to keep the iciness out of his voice.

"I am well enough here," Denethor said unconvincingly. "You are Eldor, i presume?"

"Yes, my lord, i am he."

"Do you take as much care with ladies as you do with these horses?" Denethor asked casually.

"More, my lord," Eldor said almost emphatically.

"That is well. I would advise you not to make the mistakes i made, lad," said Denethor, sitting upon a bale of hay.

"I already did, my lord, seven years ago. I can assure your lordship that it will not happen again," came Eldor's steady voice from the other side of Denethor's horse.

There was for a few minutes only the sounds of reins and bridles and such things being fitted and fastened. Denethor held his head in his hands. Then he spoke again, quietly, asking, "How comes it that you are still here in this stable? Were you never offered an advancement?"

"I have been offered many advancements, my lord," Eldor said. "Almost every year for seven years, when the Prince reviews everyone in the household and under his command, he has offered me a position among his knights, riding out with them on errands. A horse injured in the field will not often allow someone other than his handler to help him."

"Yet you are still here. Why?"

"I have declined every offer because i gave my word to Finduilas that should she ever return she would find me in the stables by day and on the beach at night. Though it would have meant a more comfortable life for me, i would not risk not being here when, if, she came back." Eldor walked Denethor's horse out of it's stall and handed him the reins.

"Then you are more worthy of her hand than i ever was. Take care of her, she deserves it." Denethor mounted up and rode away without another word to anyone. It was the last time he would be seen in Dol Amroth.

ooo

_Next chapter i will get back to Fara', i promise._

_Raksha: The developes are very interesting. I am curious as to where you got the information on Adrahil. I may well rewrite a slight bit if he was still alive circa 2983 III as, although this is "what if" stuff, i still try to be canonically correct with things like that. My two main resources are usually The Complete Guide to Middle Earth by Robert Foster and online the Encyclopedia of Arda. Neither say much of anything about Adrahil at all._

_linda: You just have to love Boromir's innocent bravery. I can't yet say how long Fin' will live, but she will not be going back to Minas Tirith._

_estelle: Great to hear from you! I wish i could write at such a pace that you have a new chapter to read every morning, but i have been doing pretty good lately at least. Thanks for peeking out!_


	27. Autumn

Imladris

When Aragorn and Faramir arrived at the Last Homely House it was July and Faramir was two months old. Two more months passed by, and a much more steady time it was for both father and son than the previous months. Faramir started growing like a weed now that he had regular feedings and other such luxuries. Slowly, very slowly, he was also beginning to accept care from other than his father. It was as though he understood that now they were in a permanent place and that no one was going to abandon him or allow any harm to come to him.

Faramir's grandmother was a great help to her son; after all, there are some things that only a mother knows. She adored her grandson wholly and when she held him, though it made her feel slightly guilty, she could not help but be a little eased knowing that the line of the rightful King would not be ended. Aragorn tended to take too many risks for Gilraen's comfort, and when combined with his hesitancy to make any claims on his heritage, it meant that Faramir was, essentially, peace of mind that even if her beloved son fell, all would not be lost.

Still, Aragorn absolutely refused to put the title of heir on his son. He intended to wait and let Faramir make that decision for himself when he was old enough. Aragorn still had no idea how he would ever live up to his father's expectations, especially now that he had a child. It was not as though he could just walk into the Hall of Kings and tell Denethor that he had decided to take the crown, and would he kindly fetch it from Rath Dinen? He was fairly sure he had not even proven himself worthy of such a significant position. He might have done well as Captain Thorongil, but he still liked his solitude, not exactly a great team player, and though many men were loyal to him, some were just as put off by his often grim manners.

It had taken Elrond nearly a week to work up the strength to tell Gilraen who had been in Imladris but one day before her arrival. Even then he did not think it wise to tell her of the entire situation, that Denethor had attacked Aragorn in his chambers. He had approached the situation as carefully and kindly as possible.

Gilraen knew just about nothing of her first born, but that he was the son of the present Steward of Gondor. It was something that Arathorn never knew, indeed Elrond was the only person she had ever confided in. Had Arathorn known, he would have gone to Gondor and murdered the then Steward's heir, damned be the consequences. Gilraen had considered one day telling Aragorn of his half-brother, but not until after the present Steward's death, which did not seem so far off.

It was interesting to her to have heard her son speak of Ecthelion in such high terms and she wondered if age and responsibility had reformed her one-time assailant. In the end Elrond had little need to fear Gilraen's reaction. She was a very strong stable woman and had willed herself to get passed not only the indignity of being taken by a stranger on her wedding night, but then having her first-born child stolen from her mere days after his birth. Gilraen was one to take things in stride and was not terribly surprised to learn that Denethor was much like his father had been

As September began to grow long and the river valley was filling with the rich shades of autumn, Arwen began to think that the time had come for her to return to Lothlorien. Aragorn's initial reaction was to beg her to stay, for Faramir if not for him. But, as always, the Elves have a deeper understanding of these things.

"I hate to leave Faramir nearly as much as I hate to leave you, mela-nîn," she said with a gentle hand stroking his cheek. "But can you see what would become of it, if I stayed here with you both?"

"All I see is the happiness that we would have. Have we not been apart long enough?" Aragorn said pleadingly.

"I, too, see the happiness that could be, but I also see that of that happiness would be borne comfort, and of comfort borne complacency. Far too easily could we come to believe that we already have everything we wanted; and I would not have Faramir grow up thinking I am his mother, it would not be fair to him when he learns the truth."

"As it was not fair to me when I learned the truth." Though he still loved Elrond as his father, never would he forget the way he felt when told that he was not his birth father.

"Aye, Estel," Arwen said gently. "It will be bitter for us both, but there are yet many tests ahead, and this is the way it must be. I understand that and embrace it, for I trust that one day all will be as we wish it could."

"I am not very good with tests," Aragorn said rather sullenly.

"You have not yet been truly tested," Arwen said. "Estel-nîn, you must believe in the strength you have. It is doubt that weakens us beyond all else. That which is weak passes away and all that remains is strength, for strength trains weakness, weakness does not train strength. I know that you are strong, how else could you have managed to get Faramir safely here, so much on your own?"

Aragorn said nothing but watched the colorful leaves being carried along in the river's current. For a long while they sat together in quiet, Arwen with her arms around her love. In the crisp autumn silence and the depth of his thoughts, Aragorn came to understand Arwen's words. Their time apart not only made their time together more precious, but made them both work harder toward that goal. It was a vital part of their love and though it was bitter, it was needed.

Eventually, Aragorn said, "I love you, Arwen. I fear so much that I shall never be worthy of you, or that if I can ever have such merit that it will be at the cost of my life."

"If you were not worthy of me I would not be here with you now," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder.

Aragorn kissed her forehead and held her close. He felt like he was already a king when in her arms. "I suppose I should be grateful that at least I do not have to find a way to take the silmaril from Eärendil's brow. Though at times I think that should be easier than what I must do. I wish that I could start upon my quest for the Crown of Eärnur with the morning's light, that I could all the sooner accomplish my task and win my true love's hand."

Arwen laughed lightly. "Impatience slows time, my love," she said, and he held her all the closer for her wisdom.

ooo

_(It comes to my attention that Gilraen's secret is not explained with great clarity in this chapter. I may slightly rewrite that section if i get time, but for a better explanation, see Chapter 8 of Shadows of Chaos - What Once Was.)_

_linda: I think it must have been the sea air, too. That coupled with the fact that he hadn't been exposed to his palantir in a while, too._

_Elenhin: I don't mind if your reviews are late, as long as they come! I think it might be a good idea to threaten your updates with little Bori' though, he can be pretty fearsome. And yet, when he's playing on the beach with his uncle, is anything cuter than that? Even i was surprised by Denethor's uncharacteristically human behavior last chapter. Goes to show, these things write themselves, all i do is put the words down and show them to you, the readers._


	28. Growing Pains and Joys

And so it was that Arwen returned to her grandparents in Lorien. Gilraen agreed to stay through the winter, until the time had come for spring planting, and thus Aragorn got a fresh start at learning about parenting from his nana. Faramir seemed to miss Arwen, as all of the valley did, but as long as he had his daddy, nothing else really mattered to the little mortal.

Though Aragorn understood why it had to be, it still pained him to see Arwen go. That was when Faramir knew it was time to take matters into his own hands and make sure that this daddy was kept occupied. It was October and Faramir was already five months old when he decided he liked being able to sit up all on his own. Once he got that figured out, the next logical thing to work on was getting mobile. That needed some work though and it was easiest to practice when no one else was looking.

His father liked to take him for walks about the valley on these autumn days, and sometimes he would bring along a couple of interesting toys for Faramir to practice beating together as they sat under a tree and rested. Glorfindel had craved out of wood for Faramir three big, detailed figures of a leaf, a butterfly, and a bird. For now they meant rather little, but in a few months he would start learning to identify each with the real things. One day as Faramir and Aragorn sat under an oak, Faramir noticed that his father's attention seemed elsewhere, and, since he was bored of his bird and butterfly, he decided to try out crawling a bit.

It was a while before Aragorn managed to draw himself from his musings and when he looked to where Faramir had been playing there was naught there but a bird and butterfly. He looked around wildly, panic shooting through him. Where could he have gone? He was only just able to sit upright on his own, surely he could not have gone anywhere! Then he heard his little one crying, he could just barely hear him over the sound of the rushing Bruinen. Aragorn's heart froze and suddenly he was running full-pelt toward the river.

There was his baby boy, sitting altogether too close to the river's edge and no happier about it than his ada. Judging the distance between him and Faramir in a split second, Aragorn knew that if his baby moved any closer to the water he would not be able to catch him in him. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn dove into the river and swam upstream, knowing that if Faramir slipped into the water he would only stand a chance if he was already in the river as well. Fighting against the current, Aragorn realized he'd made one mistake: he did not count on the fact that when Faramir saw his daddy he would try to get to him.

Just as Faramir's little hands touched the water, though, someone shot out of the tree nearest the river and lifted him up, holding him safely. He rushed downstream to help the man who was fighting a losing battle. He reached out to Aragorn, still holding Faramir close, and shouted above the water, "take my hand. Come on, reach!"

Aragorn's breath was coming short and just as their fingers touched, Aragorn felt his rescuer grasp his hand firmly and literally pull him up and out of the water onto the riverbank. He said nothing, unable to speak as he caught his breath, but he reached out for Faramir and held his little one close.

"You saved my son's life," Aragorn said gratefully when he finally had the breath.

"And yours as well," the stranger said with a slight grin.

"How can I repay you?" Aragorn said.

The blond laughed quietly. "Well, I do not suppose that you know Lord Elrond, do you?"

"I ought to, he raised me," Aragorn said, now smiling slightly as well. He was only just now recognizing that this stranger was an Elf.

"Raised you? That is almost beyond my hope! Would it be at all possible for you to get me an audience with him?" the Elf asked optimistically.

Aragorn did laugh now. "He does not do audiences, as such, but I am sure he would meet with you." People always seemed to think life in Imladris was a lot more formal than it really was. Aragorn began to wonder who this Elf was and what he was doing in Rivendell; visitors were very rare in these days. A fear flashed in his mind that something had happened to the party who was escorting Arwen to Lorien, but he quickly put aside that fear reasoning that this new arrival would not be as smiling were that the case.

"It would certainly be in my best interests if he would be so generous with his time, though I realize he is likely very busy. I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm," he said, extending his hand as he had before.

"Mae govannen, Legolas. Aragorn of... well, Imladris again, I suppose," he said, grasping Legolas's hand and smiling awkwardly. "My son is Faramir. I truly can not thank you enough for helping us and I would be happy to take you to my father."

Legolas nodded his thanks and offered his cloak to the now shivering Man. Aragorn wrapped it around himself, thankful for the warmth after that impromptu swim. He made certain to spare a corner to wrap Faramir in as well, lest he take a chill. He held his child close as they walked, collecting Faramir's bird and butterfly and heading back to the house with their guest. Aragorn wondered that it was possible that his little boy had grown so much in just a few months. It rather saddened him as he said to Faramir, "I guess you have learned how to move around. It was only yesterday, literally, that you could not go anywhere all alone."

Faramir responded to his father's statement in a language neither man understood. Both guessed his blathered syllables to mean something along the line of, "you've gone many places all alone, why shouldn't i?"

"Do i take it that you are Isildur's heir?" Legolas asked conversationally as they walked.

For so long had that fact been an absolute secret that Aragorn actually stopped in his tracks when he heard Legolas speak of it so casually. He was rather dumbfounded that a total stranger would know something that he had kept from men had worked with every day and he began to question his safety in the world.

Legolas smiled genially though. "You have nothing to fear, i only determined that because i know that Lord Elrond has sheltered Isildur's heirs for many generations. I rather doubted that there would be many other Mortals here."

Aragorn nodded, still a little shocked. "I am the current heir... yes. Though, i do not speak of it very often."

"That sounds fairly reasonable," Legolas said with a mischievous wink that put Aragorn in mind of the twins.

"Would you mind holding him for a moment?" Aragorn said, passing Faramir to Legolas as he re-laced his boots. In that couple of moments, Faramir became intensely fascinated with the braids worn by his new friend. He batted at them and watched as they swung to and fro, causing Faramir to laugh joyfully. Back in his daddy's arms again, Faramir now took more notice of his hair, too. He reached up slowly, almost contemplatively, and grasped at an errant lock. Deciding that he liked this very much he also pulled upon his father's hair, giving Aragorn his second shock of the day.

"Seems as though Mortal children learn everything all at once," Legolas said with a grin.

ooo

The next months passed quickly and, by the time Gilraen was ready to return to her own home with the first signs of spring, Faramir was getting to be not only increasingly mobile, but also keeping his father from becoming too complacent. It was much as Arwen had said before she left and Aragorn wondered if his beloved did not have a chat with his son at some point about keeping him from growing too comfortable.

Over the winter Faramir began learning to walk. He was a very fast learner before long he was giving his poor beleaguered father frights at every few moments. Once Aragorn was on his way to lunch when Erestor stopped him to go over a few records. Aragorn set Faramir down to have a better look, thinking that his little one would simply wait for his father to pick him up again and be off. Aragorn forgot to account for the fact that, to a child, even a couple of minutes is like an hour when idle, and when he turned around Faramir appeared to be attempting to climb a candle stand. It was his quick moving that gently swept Faramir out of harm's way, and Erestor's sheer panic-induced speed that caught the candles before a drop of wax hit the floor. Aragorn didn't even dare take Faramir anywhere near the wing of the house that contained the real artifacts of Númenor and the Last Alliance.

Still, for as many scares as Faramir gave his father, the joys he gave him easily outweighed them. There was one night after supper that Gilraen offered to take and put Faramir down for the night. Aragorn kissed him and said, "sleep well, little acorn. Ada loves you," just as he did each night before bed. Just as he was about to pass his son to his mother, Faramir reached out and, grasping his father's hair as Aragorn had come to love, babbled happily "a'da 'ove!" Aragorn was utterly over the moon and in tears of joy, regardless of his brothers' (loving) snickers.

By the time of his first birthday, which Gilraen agreed to stay until, Faramir was almost completely independent in mobility and when held he almost always reached for a lock of hair first thing. Elrond was taken back to the days when Estel was a child and never once in nearly eight years were the Elf-lord's braids straight. When he realized that his braids looked perfect as he went to greet Mithrandir and Thorin, it saddened him terribly - worn braids had become a bit of a status symbol for him.

It was only a matter of time now before Erestor got hold of the little one and put a book in his hands. Around the time the word "why" would enter his vocabulary was when Erestor would come to Estel's rescue and begin teaching Faramir about not only saying words, but reading them as well. From there things would really speed up and everyone knew that now, when Faramir was still truly dependent on his father, was the time that Aragorn needed to enjoy most.

ooo

_steelelf: It's ok! Calm down! I realize now that that section was a little unclear and i should have referenced Shadows of Chaos, Chapter 8, What Once Was. Aragorn is definitely Arathorn's son, and Denethor is definitely Ecthelion's son, it's a mother that they share. In the year that Finduilas and Arathorn were married, Ecthelion was not yet Steward and so did some traveling in the north. It just so happened that he was there for the wedding and so chose to "bless" their union personally, but without Arathorn's knowledge. I will try to rewrite that bit and clear it up if i can find the time._

_Raksha: I think i have a copy of History of Middle-earth so i will check that out. Thanks! Denethor is definitely a broken man now, he no longer habors the false impressions that were imbedded in him by palantir use - though one rather doubts that will last too long. Finduilas might have made provisions for Denethor to see his son, but he made no attempt to tell her of Faramir, and so it becomes a game of tit-for-tat that most of the world has played for most of history._

_linda: I've had a lot of AU plots, but i try to make them feasible within canon too, and some of them are just too outlandish. I still intend to write that PB you gave me about Denethor surviving when Aragorn comes to claim the crown... i just like fireworks, what can i say? _

_Elenhin: I think Elrond had every table cloth in Imladris burned when the twins started pulling at them several thousand years ago. Still, Faramir has more than enough stuff to play with to scare his poor dad into old age. I am so anxious to get to the part where Faramir and Boromir finally meet. I might speed up through the years a bit here next chapter._


	29. History Repeats Itself

As the months just about flew by, Faramir grew in ways that were awesome to his father. It was hard for him to believe that just fifty years ago he had been just the same, doing such everyday things for the first time, and driving his own father to worried madness. Aragorn found it very interesting, the way in which children learn, for he had never really had this sort of experience before. He could not miss the fact that Faramir really had no one his own age to learn all these new things with, just as he was more or less the "only child" in Imladris as he grew up (though, the gods know, the twins had to count for something in that regard).

It seemed that Aragorn and his son had brought back to the Last Homely House much of the life that had been dissipating over the years. Everyone was glad to have Estel back and Faramir was unanimously adored and generally considered a little princeling. Gilraen's seasonal presence was also very welcome. For as much as Elrond's house was a shelter for the heir's to the Kingdom that was Isildur's, it was rare that they were ever so very close to the Elves of that realm, as their own people even. Ordinarily the Dunedain were merely residents who went about their own ways while in sanctuary, but Gilraen, Aragorn, and Faramir were personally very dear to many Elves of the valley; it was just one reason that Elrond was so sure that Aragorn was the one who had to reclaim what once was.

For as much as everyone spoiled Faramir, Aragorn never took it as an opportunity to neglect his own paternal responsibilities. He loved spending time with his son and never missed a chance to be with him. As the years went by and Faramir grew quicker than Aragorn could have imagined, it was agreed that they were not just father and son, but also the best of friends.

The older Faramir got, the more they did together. On several occasions they would go out from the borders of Imladris on camping trips and to visit Faramir's daernana in her home and learn about survival and living as a Ranger. Aragorn and the twins taught Faramir in bowmanship but decided to let Glorfindel instruct him in sword work. Faramir was more than handy with a sword and kept up with practicing routinely, but it was the bow with which he truly excelled and made his chosen weapon.

Still, above all these pursuits, Faramir most favored Erestor's teaching him to read. By the time of his tenth birthday, Erestor guessed that Faramir had already read a quarter of the books in Imladris. There were tales and poems and lays that Faramir knew so well he could recite them at any given moment. By the time of his fifteenth year, he had tried his hand at writing and decided he loved it nearly as much as he did reading. Aragorn rather enjoyed being able to just sit in the peace and quiet of Rivendell and read with his son as well as being able to practice with him. In Faramir's eighteenth year, when Bilbo arrived in Imladris, the Hobbit was not only surprised that his old friend the Dunedan now had a son, but also that that son was able to teach him a good bit about Elven languages.

But, as seems to be the way in Middle-earth, history likes to repeat itself.

It was a beautiful day in May as father and son walked along the spring-time paths of Imladris. Aragorn remembered it well as the day that his entire life had changed twenty years ago. Both were rather quiet and contemplatively that day, but as they neared a comfortable place to sit under a tall oak, Aragorn put his hand on Faramir's shoulder to stop him.

"Ion-nîn, I wish to talk with you about something. Will you sit with me?" Aragorn said, still unsure of how to approach his topic.

"Aye, ada. What is on your mind?" Faramir asked unassumingly. There were no secrets between them, or so Faramir thought.

"Never have you questioned me about your naneth," Aragorn started, sort of wondering why that was, but since no one else in the house ever brought it up, he guessed it was natural that Faramir wouldn't ask.

Unexpectedly Faramir laughed. "Well, I have to confess that I rather thought that daernana was my nana too for years. I guess I just never thought much of it other than that, after all, I had you, so what more did I need? Why do you bring this up now?" Faramir asked curiously.

"Well, your nana was a beautiful lady. It saddens me that you could not know her, and that she could not know you; but things were very precarious when you were born and it was her wish that I take you and bring you here to grow up as I did, with love and learning and beauty. Had you stayed with your mother, you would have been raised as a son of the Steward of Gondor, and love is something that even a Steward cannot pay money for."

Aragorn continued despite the almost doubtful look about Faramir. "You know of our heritage, that I am Chieftain of the Dunedain. There is more to it than just that though." Aragorn took a breath, trying to find a way to explain this to his son and rather surprised that he had not read more of their lineage as he worked his way through Rivendell's famed libraries. His guess was that Erestor still kept those specific records tightly under lock and key as they were back when he was in Faramir's position himself. After all, at his request, there were still no notations made of Faramir being born as the first son and heir of Aragorn, son of Arathron.

"Have you ever been in the sanctuary and felt a sort of connection to the artifacts that belonged to Isildur?" Aragorn asked, attempting to introduce this properly.

"I suppose I have, now that you mention it," Faramir said absently.

"It is mostly believed in the south, in Gondor, that Isildur's line ended while his brother's, Anorien's, survived. In fact, Isildur's line has not ended and has long been given haven here. I am the current heir to. to the kingdom; I have been since my father died when I was two."

Faramir was silent for a long while, attempting to take in the information he'd just be given - so few words, but with such impact. "Then all of this. these twenty year of my life. it's been a lie?"

"No, Faramir," Aragorn said gently, remembering how this situation had been for him. "Essentially, this changes nothing -"

"Essentially?" Faramir said incredulously. "I learn that I am. Valar! I am an heir to a kingdom, and you say that essentially it changes nothing. I thought that I was just an ordinary man.-" Faramir trailed off as the enormity of reality hit him. "I do not know _who_ I am."

"What you are does not determine who you are, my son," Aragorn said.

Faramir just shook his head. "Why did you never. why now?"

"I did not want you to grow up with such a burden," he explained.

"But I must bear this knowledge now?" Faramir said, completely unable to believe that this was really happening.

"I know how it feels," Aragorn said, resting a hand on Faramir's shoulder. "I felt the same way when ada told me 52 years ago, when I was your age, that I was not his son. I was devastated then, and I can understand how you feel now."

Faramir, however, shrugged his hand away and stared at his father. "So, what you are saying is that you knew this information would hurt me, but you decided to do this anyhow." Faramir stood and began to walk away.

Aragorn had expected that this new reality might be difficult for Faramir, but he truly never expected for it to be so painful for him. Never before had his son looked at him that way and it pierced his heart. "Faramir, believe me, I am sorry. I suppose I was wrong, but I did not want your childhood to be so burdened. Perhaps I wanted to live without being Isildur's heir while you grew up as well."

Faramir stopped while his father spoke but said nothing in return and continued to walk away. For the next two days, no one in the house saw or heard him. It was only Elrond's advice to just let him be, to give him the time and space to understand things, that kept Aragorn even remotely calm. He was intolerably worried that he had made a terrible mistake and that it would cost him his beloved son.

It was after midnight on the third day of his self-imposed seclusion that Faramir came to a decision. He loved his father, but he could no longer foresee the life that he once dreamed of: living in Imladris, working beside Erestor in the library, and perhaps one day finding a love to call his own. Since that simple future was gone from him, he decided that he should no longer tempt himself with it by staying in Imladris.

In the middle of the night, Faramir packed what few things he could carry and would be sure to need. Quietly he went to the library, seeing the light in the corner niche where Erestor liked to work. "I thought I would find you here," he said softly.

Erestor smiled sadly. "Believe it or not, I finished my work hours ago. I have been waiting for you. I set these aside." Erestor handed him a small, leather wrapped package which contained three of Faramir's favorite books.

Faramir let the tears slip from his eyes as he hugged Erestor gratefully. "I am sorry that I must go, but I can not -"

"_Sidh_, Faramir," Erestor said. "I know why you must go, it was the same thing half a century ago. Keep yourself safe and do not stop learning. You might also stop in your daeradar's study."

Faramir nodded and bowed in Elven fashion to his mentor and said, "Hannon le, mellon." Faramir did go to Elrond's study then and found him awake and expecting him as well. He wondered if he was that predictable, and guessed he was when his grandfather told him that there was a mount ready with supplies if he chose to go. Though Elrond did ask him to reconsider, he also understood that Faramir had made his decision. More than anything, Elrond wanted Faramir to know that he loved him very dearly as a grandson and that Imladris would always be open to him. Elrond felt very strongly that they would meet again, and he told Faramir so, knowing the young Mortal needed that reassurance.

As Faramir rode away he wondered if he should stop and tell his daernana that he would be leaving. In the end, he decided it would be best to just go and find his own way to try to put his freshly shattered life back together.

ooo

_Updates still coming blitzkrieg style. I have no idea how i am doing all this writing, but i am not complaining either!_

_estelle: Nice to hear from you again. I don't think a spin-off is out of the question. I can't really promise a time frame, but i will put it on my plot bunny list. Thanks for your support! _

_steelelf: I can see how you would be worried! Sometimes when i write something i know what i am saying, but fail to realize that others might not see it the same way. I've often said that at work i have three people proof our publication every week, but i am just too eager to get these chapters posted to employ the services of a beta :)_


	30. Aftermath

When Aragorn woke the next day and learned that Faramir had packed up and left in the night, he was livid. Not with his son, but with himself. Would he never learn the tact needed to broach difficult subjects? Only now was he getting a glimpse of how Elrond must have felt when he ran off in the night fifty years ago. For twenty years he and his had done everything together, they had been so close, and now despite, or possibly because of that, his son was gone.

Aragorn hadn't touched food all day when Elrond brought him some bread and fruit, along with a draught of miruvor. Aragorn was reluctant to take anything, saying, "it is because of me that he has gone."

"Was it because of me that you left at his age?" Elrond asked.

"No, not entirely, but -"

"How can you think that this is different? It is not your fault that Faramir left, but that he was overwhelmed to think that you are heir to a kingdom. It is really rather something to get adjusted to. He just needs his own time, Estel."

"I didn't explain to him that nothing is written about him anyone's records. He thinks that his future is decided for him because of who i am. I was going to wait, give him time, as you said, before i approached him again and explained that i did not expect him to bear the title of my heir. For twenty years i have worked to keep that burden from him. I know the life he wanted to have, and because of my foolishness he now believes that he can not have that life. All i wanted, since the day he was born, was for him to be happy. I have failed him completely."

Elrond took his "youngest" in his arms comfortingly. "How many times in the last fifty years have i believed that i failed you?" he whispered.

"You have not, father," Aragorn said, now struggling to speak.

"And nor have you failed Faramir. He simply needs his time, as you needed yours," Elrond said, pouring a bit of miruvor for his son.

Only several days later a number of arrivals converged on Imladris at once. Halbarad came first to sue for Aragorn to come with him to help their numbers in their guard on the Shire. For several years had he and Faramir been doing their part in serving with the Dúnedain Rangers off and on, but the Rangers had not seen them in nearly eight months and were growing desperate for their help again. Elrond had judiciously held Halbarad off until the other group arrived knowing who his son would benefit most from seeing first.

Later in the afternoon arrived Glorfindel and the twins with Arwen and Gandalf. Aragorn had been inconsolable and it was purely fortune that brought Arwen back at the time when Aragorn most needed her.

Unfortunately, before Aragorn had a chance to have a moment alone with his beloved and explain what had happened, Halbarad came upon them with relief in his eyes. "At last i find you! I need you and Faramir to come back with me as soon as possible, we can not keep up -"

Gandalf interrupted the Ranger, though, saying "I am afraid your company shall have to do, for i am also in need of Aragorn and Faramir and my need is greater."

Before Aragorn could say anything an argument broke out between the Ranger and the Wizard over who was in greater need. The twins only added to the argument by offering to go with Halbarad and telling him that he ought to let their baby brother and nephew get some rest once in a while. Glorfindel was no help either as he offered his help to Gandalf, which caused Erestor to put in his two cents worth regarding the fact that the Vanya was already scheduled for patrols, with the twins, for at least the next five years and he was _not_ about to change those schedules that he had _just_ finished. Elrond, in his wisdom, had walked away from the mêlée and Arwen was quiet, sensing that something was very wrong with her beloved.

Aragorn listened to all of this for about five minutes before his nerve broke. "_Can not you all just give me peace?_" he shouted wearily. "Only five days ago i lost my son and all you can do -"

Aragorn was cut off by a collective "_what!_" Halbarad looked more leaguered than upset, muttering something to the effect that they could scarcely afford to lose another man. The twins and Glorfindel stood in shock and Gandalf lowered his head. The tears stood still in Arwen's eyes as she softly said, "i did not even sense it."

"Another mistake," Aragorn thought to himself. "My son is not dead," he said rather miserably. "He left here five days ago."

"Well, gods, man, go after him!" Halbarad said in annoyance that his leader had so little influence over his own son.

"Will you kindly shut up?" Glorfindel said in a rather threatening tone while advancing on the Ranger. The twins, Arwen, and Gandalf were too relieved to say anything.

After a moment Elladan said quietly, "what happened, Estel?"

"Do you mind if we do not discuss this on the front steps?" Aragorn said, plainly not wishing to say anything more.

"I think that is rather a good idea," Erestor said, jumping in practically on cue. "You will all find your rooms prepared, please take your ease. Supper will be served in a couple hours." Erestor glanced at the sun to check his time and then hurried off the kitchen to make sure everything was moving along.

Arwen immediately went to her lover. "Estel...?"

Aragorn just held her tightly. "Gods, but i've missed you," he whispered. "No, i am all right. It is just... i have not been a day without my baby boy since he was born. Go on, take your rest before supper. I will be in ada's study."

By the time all involved reassembled in Elrond's study Elrohir was ready to ride out after Faramir, if only to watch out for him. Elladan disagreed, knowing that it would not help at the moment and pointing out that they did not go after Estel.

"I know we did not," Elrohir said, "but we also knew he was leaving."

"No," Elrond said, siding with Elladan, "Faramir is more than well equipped to take care of himself, and he does need this time. As for the two of you, and Glorfindel, i also agree with Erestor. The schedules are set and we need the three of you here."

"And what about my - Aragorn's men?" Halbarad put in. "We need more help to cover the Shire, since that is what _Gandalf_ has insisted must be done. We used to be able to call on two extra Rangers, only now one has flown the coop and we are down to our Chieftain. Unless we have come into some luxury of recruits that we can afford to have our Rangers dying of exhaustion..."

"Well, now _Gandalf_ needs your Chieftain for a slightly more important mission - one that, if it works, could make your mission less imperative," Gandalf said to Halbarad in a slightly heated tone. "But it must commence immediately," he said turning his attention to Aragorn again. "You likely do not recall, but i wanted your help two years ago, but you were not willing to pull you manpower away from the Shire."

"I would not because i had no satisfactory explanation of what manner of mission you wanted me for," Aragorn retorted.

"Estel," Elrond said, calling his son aside. "I know this has been difficult for you, but i urge you to remain peaceful for now. Faramir will be all right, you simply must trust me. This mission that Gandalf speaks of... i can not say much now, but it involves...," Elrond glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice even further, "the One."

Aragorn turned, staring at Gandalf. "The One" could mean a couple of things: either Gandalf had some clues about Sauron's ruling ring... or this had something to do with Eru Ilúvatar. At the moment, Aragorn was hoping for Eru. He looked back at his father. "What if he comes back and i am not here?"

"Then i will see to it that he knows how much his father, and grandfather, love him. Though, i think that you may well see him before i," Elrond said. "Go with Gandalf. Your Dúnedain will keep, they are more hardy than Halbarad gives them credit for, and more than this they will be taxed in years to come. Understand Estel, this is only the beginning. Much now depends on our every action, or inaction."

So it was that Aragorn agreed to go with Gandalf to search for Gollum. His heart was never really in it though, and before long he became as grim as he was before Faramir's birth. It did not help that Gilraen had come to Imladris only days before he left with Gandalf. She looked unwell when she arrived and it distressed her to learn that her beloved grandson had left Rivendell on his own. Aragorn had a strange feeling when he left that he might never see his mother again and he feared that he might never see his son again either. Aragorn's one comfort was that his love had returned to Lorien and that, at intervals, he was able to rest there and be near to her.

After years spent in the Wold and in and about the Gladden area Aragorn and Gandalf returned to Imladris for respite. Gandalf, of course, had been searching with Aragorn only now and then; where he was the rest of the time was unknown to his companion. Aragorn took little rest but instead went to give his aid to Halbarad, thinking that perhaps through hard, relentless work he could atone for the wrongs in his life.

The year was 3007, Aragorn had not seen Faramir in four years and clung only to a small hope that his son had returned to Imladris while he had been away. Not only was that hope dashed upon his return, but he was very nearly completely broken to learn of his mother's death earlier in the year. For nearly two years his hope was shattered and he was of little use in the North. Elrond had to marvel that a person could survive in such despondency, after all, his own wife could not. It was a testament to the strength that was left in Men, in that one Man in particular, and he never lost hope in Aragorn.

Two years later, Gandalf finally got tired of Aragorn's brooding about and feeling sorry for himself. Things were getting entirely too dangerous and it was getting desperate that they find Gollum before someone else. Instead of confining their search so close to the mountains, Gandalf insisted that they needed to move further east this time, through Anduin's vales, Mirkwood, and out to Rhovanion. Considering how fruitless their last search had been, Aragorn was figuring on this not taking much more than say, oh, another six ages.

ooo

_Next chapter will be Fara-centric. At this rate, give me about five minutes and i will have it up as well._

_linda: I think Aragorn's hair might be starting to grey. Anyway, i hope this chapter (and some of next) has sort of given a clearer impression of why Faramir left. It wasn't really that he was angry with Aragorn or anything, and also Aragorn didn't get (or take) the chance to tell him that he is not counted his heir unless he wishes to be. But yeah, i did need an excuse to get him to leave Imladris :)_

_steelelf: As i have said, i do AU, but not that much! _

_grumpy: I'd say the only thing worse than a child not being where you left it is a grown child who leaves on his own._

_Elenhin: You know no apologies are necessary, not to me. I could slow down a bit, if you would prefer it :) Hopefully you will catch this update, as i only just saw your reviews come in before posting. I plan to have a few flashbacks, perhaps in the next chapter or two. I can not wait to write this next chapter and i may even have it up by tonight. _


	31. Little Brother

Faramir rode south, not really knowing where he was going, but knowing that going any other direction would get him pretty much nowhere fast. He had no desire to go west or north, there was too much chance that he would run into someone he knew out there. He knew nearly nothing of the east, but that he would have to cross the Hithaeglir and he did not fancy taking the High Pass so near to what the Hobbit Bilbo called "Goblin Town." So south it was.

He looked up for a moment and studied his map. Hollin Ridge was ahead, another two days off he guessed. He debated momentarily on his next course. He really favored getting somewhere as soon as possible, but he had never heard anything good about Caradhras and Moria in general. He decided to stay by the river until Tharbad where he would then pick up the Old South Road.

Faramir had been on the road for a month before he was on the Old South Road. He was starting to realize that he was taking too much time and needed to either move faster or cut back on his rations, or both. One rainy night as he was huddled off the road, trying to get some sleep, he looked up and saw the full moon peering out from between the clouds. A month and a half, then, Faramir reckoned. A month and a half that he had been gone, a month and a half since he had seen his father. Faramir broke down then and wept. He tried to tell himself to turn around and go home, to beg his father's forgiveness - he had not even said goodbye to him - and accept whatever responsibility it was that he was born to.

He could not bring himself to do it though. He knew that he had come out here for a reason and now he had come all this way, he was not prepared to turn around. So onward Faramir went. He was careful in Dunland, having heard that they were less than friendly to strangers, and more than once it was only quick think or quick riding that got him out of harm's way there. He came through to the Gap of Rohan and looking again at his map made another decision, if it was his fate to be the heir to Isildur's heir, he would go to Gondor and serve as his father once had.

Faramir crossed over the Fords of the Isen and rode on passed Helm's Deep. In the Westfold he was stopped by a party of riders. Their captain looked to be about his own age and clearly of some import. "Greetings of the Mark," he called, riding up to Faramir. "I hope you will not mind an armed escort, but i shall have to bring you before the King before we can allow you to continue."

Faramir did not think much of this greeting. "May i ask why," he said as his greeting.

The captain grinned in a slightly unnerving way. "You are a stranger here, and we are rather careful of strangers, especially in these days. We mean no offense, it is just a matter of security. I am Prince Théodred."

Faramir nodded in the Elven form of deference. "If you are the King's son, can i not just tell you of my purpose? I had hoped to get to Gondor without much more delay."

Théodred smiled amiably now. "I can not, i am sorry, it is not my law, but my father's. It will not take long and you would have to pass Edoras on your way anyhow. You can take a bit of rest there, get something hot to eat. We are really a very friendly people, once you get to know us."

Faramir supposed he could not refuse and so consented. In the end, he was quite glad to sleep in a real bed again and have a proper meal. The next day when he was brought before Théoden, the King had to keep himself from looking twice, it was as though Thorongil himself was in Rohan again. Upon learning that the young man was the son of Thorongil, he gave him his personal welcome immediately and saw to it that his saddlebags were filled with provisions before he left again. Faramir was very appreciative and thanked the King profusely for his help. Théoden just smiled and said, "think nothing of it, young Faramir. It is not the first time i have welcomed you and seen to it that you were fed."

Faramir decided to ignore whatever cryptic meaning that statement held and just be on his way. On his way out of the city of Edoras, Faramir passed two young children, who he guessed to be brother and sister. The younger girl and older boy were having quite a tussle, even if it was just play, and Faramir thought it might be best if someone separated them before the poor girl got hurt. "Easy, lad," he said kneeling beside the boy with a firm, but not unkind, hand on his shoulder, "did no one ever tell you not to strike a lady?"

To his utter shock, the girl, who he judged to be no more than about 8, landed an extremely hard punch on Faramir's arm that actually made him cry out. He stared in disbelief at the girl child who stood with her hands firmly on her hips and said, "i am not a "_lady_" and i can take care of myself!"

When he recovered he looked again at the older boy and said, "you have my sympathies lad. I hope you have adequate armor." Faramir then mounted and rode quickly away before he got beaten up by any more females. The world outside of home seemed to be very different indeed.

Faramir proceeded to follow the Snowbourne to the Entwash, and subsequently the Mouths of the Entwash, until he crossed over the Mering Stream and into Gondor, at last. As he came upon a small town there by the river mouths, he decided to try to seek rest before finally going on to Minas Tirith where he hoped to be found worthy enough to serve in some way.

Riding up to the settlement, a rather powerfully built man accompanied by a smaller, but no less strong looking man, walked out to meet him. "What is your business here, stranger?" the bigger man asked.

"I have no business," Faramir said. "I am seeking rest before carrying on to Minas Tirith. I have provisions i can share, if that helps."

The two men glanced at each other. "Minas Tirith?" said the smaller of the two. "We have plans to go to the White City at week's end. We thought it might be wise to offer our service before we are pressed into it. I suppose you had the same idea?"

Faramir nodded. "I had not fears of being pressed into service, but i did intend to offer it freely."

"Excellent! We go together, then? My name is Damrod, and this oaf who probably scared the light of the stars out of you is my friend Mablung. He is really a softy, once you get to know him. We just keep him around to scare off thieves and rabbits."

At that Faramir laughed for the first time in months. He instantly liked these men, who seemed no older than himself. He was obliged and again offered to share his provisions, though he insisted that he didn't need a place to sleep, that he would do just fine under the stars.

Damrod wouldn't hear it, though, and all but demanded that Faramir stay in his house. His mother would have supper for them and there was a spare room. Faramir gave in and went along with his new friend, who introduced him to his mother, Indis. He was welcomed with open arms and made to feel much at home, though he could not help feeling that the lady of the house eyed him rather curiously.

"From where do you come, Faramir?" Indis asked conversationally as they took supper together.

"The North," Faramir said. "It is my hope that i can be of service here."

"Every able man is of service here," Indis said. "You look to be about Damrod's age, about twenty?"

"Exactly so, my lady," Faramir said and Indis looked even more curious. She wondered if it was possible that this was the same child brought to her by that poor, ragged man who was trying so hard to keep his little one well. It had been twenty years ago, she would never forget, Damrod was only six months and she was able to feed both babies. The struggling Ranger was so abashed that she fed them right there in the kitchen she thought he would blind himself before looking toward her. Perhaps Malantur would remember what the Ranger's name was since he brought him to her.

A couple days later the three young men set out for Minas Tirith to offer their services to Gondor. Faramir remembered something that Elrond had said to him as he was leaving and kept the advice in his heart: "Pledge your loyalty to no cause or country, but to a living man alone, for a man must be accountable for the fealty given him." One week later the three friends arrived at the White City and Faramir was taken aback. Only in ancient works had he seen anything so...

Damrod laughed at the expression on Faramir's face. "Certainly is overwhelming, is it not?"

They were given entrance into the city, but told that they had to remain on the first level until an officer came to officially conscript them. They were told that they could hire a room in the Lamp Wright's street and someone would be sent around. As they went on to find the inn the sergeant-at-arms who had directed them was startled out of his wits by his captain "sneaking up" on him.

"Captain Boromir!" he said with an almost confused salute.

"At ease, sergeant," Boromir said with a smile that could put anyone at ease. "Who were those men?" he asked.

"Volunteers, sir," replied the sergeant. "I was going to send for an officer."

"Well," said Boromir, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "here i am! Did you get any names?" he asked.

"No sir," the sergeant said, suddenly worried that perhaps he should have.

"I only ask because i could swear one of them is familiar to me," Boromir explained.

The sergeant chuckled and said, "I admit, sir, when i first saw him i thought you had an illegitimate brother." He blanched, suddenly realizing that that could have been taken as calumny against the Steward.

He needn't have worried, as Boromir laughed also. "Well, i will find out for myself, i suppose. At your duty," he said, saluting. This time the sergeant's salute was much more precise. Boromir went on toward the inn on the Lamp Wright's street, the Old Guesthouse it was simply called, just across from the second gate. A five minute walk for an ordinary man, so popular was Boromir that it took him ten minutes after stopping to say hello to nearly every person he passed. He often felt that his popularity had more to do with the fact that he was the Steward's son than anything else.

By the time he got to the Old Guesthouse two of the men had already gone to their room to get ready for supper. The third was in the stables getting their horses settled as he was not comfortable leaving the task to an ostler (set aside the fact that he knew neither of the other men had coin enough for that service). For a moment Boromir just stood by, not entering. It was eerie, Boromir could have sworn he knew that man, there was something familiar about him.

The man said something to his horse that Boromir did not quite catch and he took up the few packs he had with him. Unexpectedly, though, the young man sat down on a pile of hay and put his head in his hands. He reached into one of his packs and pulled out what looked to Boromir like a big wooden leaf. Running a thumb over the intricate carving the young man broke down completely for the second time since leaving his beloved home.

It was more than Boromir could bear. Quietly, he walked over to the man and rested a hand on his shoulder. Faramir's head snapped up and he almost pulled away but Boromir handed him a handkerchief and sat down beside him. After a while, when the younger man seemed to calm down, Boromir asked sympathetically, "are you all right?"

Faramir took a deep breath and nodded hesitantly. "A little homesick, i guess."

Boromir nodded, saying, "I know the feeling. What is your name?"

"Faramir of... of Eriador," he replied almost automatically.

"Boromir of Gondor," Boromir said, offering his hand which Faramir grasped gratefully. "My sergeant tells me you and your companions are come to volunteer?"

"Aye," Faramir said tiredly.

"Do not worry, this city is not quite as overwhelming once you get used to it," Boromir smiled. "I grew up here until i was five and i will never forget my first time down to the sixth level, i was scared to death."

Faramir gave an uneven little grin back. "I doubt you were just as scared at twenty," he said.

"You are quite right... i was a lot more scared," Boromir laughed. "I hadn't seen my father since i was six and i was not certain i wanted to. I had no real reason to worry though. You will do fine, too. What service did you intend to volunteer?"

"I was a Ranger in the north with my father, so i guess that is what i am best qualified for," Faramir said rather unenthusiastically.

"Ah, i see. Well, i am Captain of the Guard, currently," Boromir said.

"Oh... i am sorry, but i did not know that, nor do i know what your protocol for addressing superiors is here," Faramir said as more of an explanation than an excuse.

Boromir smiled though. "You will learn, but you do not have to worry about that off duty, not with me at any rate. Is there anything i can do to make you feel a little less homesick?" he asked, feeling genuinely sorry for the younger man.

Faramir laughed humorlessly. "Well, this is probably right out of the question, but i was hoping that i could see the Steward at some point."

Boromir put on a totally straight face then, but could not keep the mischievous twinkle from his eyes. "Well, that is a little bit unlikely, but... i happen to know that the Steward is usually in his best mood of the day after supper. If you come up to the Citadel then and ask for me, i may be able to... pull a string or two?"

"I do not wish to inconvenience you," Faramir said.

"Think nothing of it, Faramir. Is there anything else?" Already Boromir wanted to take this younger man under his wing.

"No, your generosity has been more than enough," Faramir said. "I do not have a big brother, but you make me feel as if i do."

"Well, that is perfect!" Boromir exclaimed. "I do not have a little brother, you make me as if i do as well! Let us shake on that, shall we?"

Faramir had to laugh, this man's disposition was utterly contagious. He took the hand offered him and shook upon their pact.

"Terrific! I shall see you this evening after supper?" Boromir said.

"Aye," Faramir nodded.

"Good, see you then," he said standing and heading to the door. "Welcome to Minas Tirith, little brother!"

"Thank you," Faramir said, and added in a whisper, "big brother."

ooo

_I really could have broken this into two chapters, but i figured you guys are probably getting a little overwhelmed with me updating so much. I am starting to overwhelm myself!_

_Elenhin: How can there be anything wrong, really you must not worry about when you review. I am just thrilled that you have enjoyed my work so much. It is humbling. I also hope that you have not tired yourself out just waiting for this latest update, though i did have it up tonight as i promised. I also know many who think that a younger person can not do as well as someone older. I know that isn't true and have been given wonderful opportunities because of those who have believed in me, yet there are always those who doubt. Wisdom does not know age, only experience, and some young people have experienced more than older people ever could have. No need to stay up any longer, though, i doubt i will write more until sometime tomorrow. :)_


	32. Oathtaking

That evening after taking a supper with his new friends, Damrod and Mablung, Faramir headed toward the next gate and asked the guard how he might get to the Citadel. The guard clearly thought he was joking and said nothing but continued to stand his guard. Faramir sighed, undoubtedly this was some sort of initiation ritual, that or they just didn't like strangers here. "Your captain asked me to meet him this evening," Faramir tried to explain.

"_My_ captain?" the guard said suspiciously.

"At ease, Beregond," said Boromir walking through the second gate. "You will have to forgive me, Faramir. I did not think that you would not know the pass-words. I only just realized and came. Come, i will introduce you to the Steward."

"Thank you, yet again, Boromir," Faramir said. "Do you really think you can get me an audience?"

Again Boromir wore that straight face. "One never knows what manner of mood his Stewardship will be in, but i have it on good authority that he is in a rather good mood this evening."

Together they talked, moving up through the levels of the city. At each gate a guard saluted Boromir and let him pass without question. On every level, Faramir looked around in amazement that so much was put into each street. As they went higher and higher the streets became more and more affluent looking and they guards looked more and more important.

"You say you are from Eriador, so you must be one of their Dúnedain Rangers of the North," Boromir said, as they walked through the fourth level. "Oh, by the way, that inn up ahead, the Merry Widow, i highly recommend it. Anyway, what compelled you to come here? Moreover, how did you ever make such a long trip alone?"

Faramir just shrugged. He didn't really feel like recounting the story at the moment, but something about the captain made him feel comfortable. "I... well, i guess i left because i... needed to find myself. Anyway, i know a lot about survival, i guess the trip in itself was something i needed, to prove to myself that i could take care of myself. All my life i always had...," Faramir choked slightly, but swallowed the knot in his throat, it was such a relief to get all this off his chest. "I always had my father, we did everything together, you know?"

Boromir stopped walking for a moment and looked at Faramir, though he avoided his eyes. The true answer would have been "no," but if he substituted the word "uncle" for "father" - "yes, i know exactly what you mean," Boromir said with a slightly sad smile. From there Boromir guided the conversation to more general topics.

When they reached the sixth circle, Boromir pointed out a large building near an entrance to a tunnel. "That is the Houses of Healing. You will probably want to memorize that one... particularly if you spend too much time at the Merry Widow," Boromir winked.

Again the guard at the tunnel let Boromir pass with no more than a salute. The sun was beginning to set and when they emerged from the tunnel Faramir gasped. The mountain that rose up behind Minas Tirith shadowed all of the city, but the fiery red of evening reflected in the Pelennor and on the Anduin. It was a gripping view, to say the least. Even more ironic was how dark the land east of the river was. How close this land lay to Mordor was something that had not crossed Faramir's mind when he decided to come here.

"That," Boromir said, pointing east where Faramir was already looking, "is what we are fighting against." Knowing that looking that direction for too long was not going to raise anyone's spirits, he placed his hands on Faramir's shoulders and turned him around. "This," walking him over the fountain and the White Tree, "is what we are fighting _for_," he said in a more proud tone.

If it was possible that Faramir could grow yet more amazed, he did. "The scion of Nimloth," he breathed, "brought here by Isildur himself!"

Boromir grinned. His new "little brother" was like a breath of fresh air, so unpretentious and enthusiastic. It was plain that he had never known the Shadow of Mordor. As they approached the tower, Boromir stopped Faramir to give him a quick seminar on addressing the Steward - when to kneel, what to say, what _not_ to say, and so on. "In short," Boromir said, "just do everything i do," and he lead the way into the Hall of Kings.

As he followed close by Boromir into the grand hall, Faramir's eyes were drawn not to the Steward but the magnificent Throne of Gondor. He practically faltered thinking that _that_ was what his father was heir to, and... Valar! he himself, as well. He saw Boromir kneel and he did too.

Boromir went through some obviously official speech that Faramir truly did not pay attention to, then he rose but with a hand on Faramir's shoulder signaling him to remain kneeling. Boromir said, "My lord, i present to you Faramir of Eriador, petitioner to Denethor, the twenty-sixth Ruling Steward of Gondor."

"What is your petition, Faramir?" Denethor asked in a tone that did not convey that good mood Boromir had asserted earlier. Boromir stood off to the side looking strangely at his father and wondered how his mood had shifted so quickly. He was laughing and carrying on over dinner not half an hour ago. More curious to Boromir was the fact that his father had skipped the customary command for the petitioner to rise before stating his petition. He certainly hoped that whatever this kid wanted it wasn't asking too much, he liked Faramir and would hate to see him strung up from the Tower already.

Faramir remained on his knees and said, "My lord, i come to offer my allegiance not to Gondor, but to you yourself, Steward Denethor."

For a long while there was silence and Boromir had a strong compulsion to shepherd Faramir away very quickly. He'd liked the boy, he really had, it had been so nice that someone in Minas Tirith had treated him as an ordinary person for the first time.

But in that silence, had Faramir had the nerve to look up, he would have seen first a shocked expression on the Steward's face, slowly replaced by an unsettling grin. Denethor was not so forgetful that he did not remember the only other man who had sworn his oath directly to the Steward and clearly it was no coincidence that this man looked so very alike to that. Denethor suppressed an amused laugh, this was going to be very interesting. "Do you know the oath?" Denethor said, controlling his tone.

"I do, my lord," Faramir said. Again, Boromir looked at this younger man and felt impelled to interrupt before he took an oath that would effectively surrender his freedom. And yet, Faramir was doing this freely and seemed to know what it was he was doing.

"Then swear to me," Denethor said.

Faramir took a deep breath and looked up, first toward the man seated before him, but ever did that high throne hold his attention from it's place in the background. Again he lowered his head and shut his eyes for a moment, the image of the throne still present in his mind. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me."

Boromir had taken the oath himself and heard it sworn a hundred times since he returned to Minas Tirith five years ago, but this time it struck him as wrong. He could not put his finger on it, but he felt so strongly that this young man should not be the one swearing an oath to his father. The words "death take me" rang loudly in his ears and Boromir had what felt like a premonition that he did not grasp.

Denethor instructed Faramir to rise and to kiss the Ring of Húrin and then dismissed them both. He pulled Boromir aside momentarily and whispered, "I want you to keep very close watch upon him." Boromir simply nodded and caught up to Faramir.

Once they were outside again Boromir turned to his younger friend, outright gawking at him. "What you just did... i do not know if that was the single most impressive act of bravery i have ever witnessed or sheer stupidity."

Faramir laughed. "Well, i might lean toward stupidity myself, but that it came at the guidance of someone very wise."

Boromir just shook his head. "Come on, little brother, i will take you home. What say we stop at the Merry Widow so you can get a closer look this time? I don't know about you, but i need an ale or three after that."

"Are you not on duty?" Faramir asked.

"No, he dismissed us both, the Steward. You know, the man to whom you just swore your _life_."

Faramir smiled. "I swore a personal oath, moreover, an oath of fealty to any but the King is a reciprocal oath. And even a King is responsible to his people."

"You are intelligent, lad, i will give you that," Boromir said with his hand on Faramir's shoulder, subtly guiding him through the now dark streets of the city. "You are the sort who would make a good king, simply because you believe that we will one day have one again. I really like your optimism, Faramir; it's something we have not had here in a long time."

They entered the inn to many shouts along the line of "here's to Captain Boromir!" He was gracious about it all but wasted no time finding a place for the two of them sit and talk. Boromir ordered the finest (and strongest) ale in the house for them both and long into the night did they both talk, getting to know each other so that by the time they left Boromir felt like he really did have a little brother to look out for. Boromir found it ironic that it just so happened that Faramir was twenty, and it was just exactly twenty years ago that his mother was due to have a child but lost it at birth. Boromir could remember how much he'd wanted to have a little brother, someone to call a friend, even at his young age. He'd had to wait twenty years, but he felt that the gods had heard him after all.

ooo

_Still coming along, though not with two chapters ina day. _

_linda: Sometimes i actually do write things in for a reason, it's pretty rare, but i did come full circle at least on Damrod and Mablung. I had to bring them back in, and i definitely had to have the "brothers" take to each other right off._

_Elenhin: I am glad that you are not foresaking rest on my account. Besides, a rested reader is a happy reader. These next chapters should have a lot to do with the dear "brothers" getting to know each other, and should be rather enjoyable._

_estelle: Thank you, thank you, thank you!_


	33. The Making of an Impression

The day after Faramir's oath-taking, Boromir paid a visit to his new recruits. All three were sitting together, talking of past days when Boromir entered and sat down with them. Most of the other patrons were more than a little surprised to see the Steward's son in an inn on the Lamp Wright's Street, Damrod and Mablung were a little uneasy that such a clearly high-ranking officer came to sit among them, but Faramir was simply glad to see his friend again.

After a bit of conversation to set the other two men at ease, Boromir asked which of them had had formal weapons training with a military officer. Damrod and Mablung had learned only what their fathers had taught them and so Boromir assigned them to assemble the next morning with the training officer.

Faramir guessed that his training could scarcely be more formal than learning sword work from the Balrog Slayer of Gondolin, practicing marksmanship with Isildur's heir and the sons of Elrond, and serving with the Rangers of the North. Thus, he put himself down as "formally trained." Boromir had rather sensed that and was keen to see what the younger man knew. Though it was usually delegated to another officer, Boromir asked Faramir if he would be ready to demonstrate his abilities that day. Faramir agreed, collected his weapons, and met Boromir just outside the city gate.

"Swords first?" Boromir suggested since Faramir said that his true skill was with a bow. Faramir concurred and both stripped down to shirts and leggings. Boromir was rather impressed with the quality of Faramir's vambraces, though Faramir was little impressed with the fact that Boromir did not wear any himself. Boromir claimed that he did much better without them, that they tended to impair his range and made him more vulnerable to dropping his sword.

"An errant nick to the wrist could kill you if you do not get treatment soon enough," Faramir said concernedly.

Boromir just shrugged. "Not as long as I block you well enough," he said with a grin.

Faramir nodded and took his stance as did Boromir, who took the opportunity to attempt a strike first. Faramir caught it easily though and the clang of steel on steel rang out three times in quick succession before Faramir's blade caught Boromir's and, with a quick turn of his wrist, he disarmed his opponent.

Boromir stood in silent shock. He had scarcely even settled into a rhythm and this younger man already had him disarmed. Shaking his head and retrieving his sword, he thought that surely it was a fluke; he probably hadn't really had a good grip yet, since he hadn't even gotten into his rhythm.

Taking his stance again and shaking off that bit of a surprise, Boromir took on even tighter grip on his sword and was even more determined to make a good impression on his new "brother." The result was that he was disarmed even faster than before. This was utterly unprecedented and Boromir considered asking Faramir to give him some tips. In the third round Boromir managed to keep his weapon, but it did him little good as Faramir had him backed against the gates in a matter of minutes.

Boromir grinned nervously. "I think that is enough sword work for today," he said dropping his sword since his arm was pinned by his shirtsleeve to the gate by Faramir's steel.

Faramir freed him and said with a smile, "I have to confess, I do not usually fight like that. I am usually much more defensive, but I rather wanted to impress you and… my mentor taught me some of his favorite tricks."

"May the gods forbid that I should ever upset your mentor," Boromir breathed heavily. "You say that you are better with a bow than a sword?"

Faramir nodded. "Much better, I can hold my own with steel, but I don't prefer it."

Boromir thought for a moment on that. "Well, if you are that much better with a bow, what say I get you up to the top of the tower and see if you can hit a mouse out there in Osgiliath?"

Faramir pretended to take Boromir seriously and consider the proposal. He looked from the tower out to the fort and back a few times as if judging the distance. He picked up his bow and closed his eyes as he drew back, testing the flex and tension. "I will do it, but… I will need a bigger bow," he said flawlessly deadpan.

Boromir near split his side from laughter. He had great fun watching Faramir shoot, calling out different targets until Faramir's quiver ran out. Boromir, however, was not the only one watching, though the other spectator was less than amused. Denethor watched, too, from the tower as this young upstart, who in every way reminded him of the man he hated most, bested his son each time. He was sure that Thorongil's illegitimate scion was intent on driving a wedge between him and Boromir exactly as Thorongil had between him and his father. The lad was skillful, even Denethor could not deny that, but perhaps too skillful for his own safety.

Unaware of the third party, Boromir suggested that they get out of the sun and have an ale at the Merry Widow. Sitting in the back of the tavern where it was coolest Boromir consumed a tankard before leveling an amazed stare at Faramir, who preferred water to ale. "I have never seen anything like that, never – and I trained with the Swan Knights for years before I came here. You are unparalleled. I can not tell you how glad I am you are on _our_ side!"

Faramir blushed slightly, but was no stranger to approval. "Well, it is as I said, I very rarely attack with a sword the way I did today, but I thought I'd best put on a good show now. My shooting was good enough, but it felt too easy for me. If you wanted to see what I can really do, we should have ridden out to the wood beyond. It takes more skill to shoot between trees than it does over an open field."

"Well, you are the best I have ever seen," Boromir said. "I am going to speak to the Steward this evening about getting you an appropriate rank around here."

Faramir smiled appreciatively, but said, "you really do not have to do that. I do not want any special treatment."

"It's not a matter of special treatment. We need more men like you. I do not know who trained you, but if I ever have the honor of meeting such a warrior, it would be the highlight of my life. I dearly wish I could say you would do best in my company, but I would be dishonest if I didn't recommend you for the Rangers, especially since you have already served as such in the North."

Faramir agreed that he would be most comfortable serving with the Rangers. Outside of that, there was only one thing that Faramir felt he was lacking. "Is there a library here in the city?" he asked Boromir as they were about to part for the evening.

"Of course there is," Boromir said. "I think I was passed it once, but hurried right along when I heard there was nothing but dusty books and scrolls and such inside. Why do you ask?"

Faramir smirked. "I know I will likely have little leisure time, but I would be one to spend what time I can reading."

Boromir just shook his head. "You truly are one of a kind. I never before met the warrior who loved prose."

"Truly I do not think I would be half as skilled as I am if I did not grow up first with reading. It has been a balance in my life that I would not do without," Faramir said. "Sometimes it is not just practice which makes perfect. Though, I would never refer to myself as a warrior. A defender, a protector, maybe."

"Well, young protector, I know I shall sleep sounder tonight. Since you are sworn to the Steward, I can give you the pass-words to the gates. The library is in the Citadel. Provided the Steward agrees with me about placing you with the Rangers, you will have a good deal of leisure time until fall, that is when the guard changes in the eastern lands and when you would go out." Boromir went then to take supper with his father.

Scarcely had he said "good evening" but Denethor said, "I wish to discuss young Faramir."

Boromir smiled brightly. "Been reading minds again, father? I thought you were going to give that up when you spied that little tavern wench on my mind over supper last week. Actually, I wanted to speak with you about Faramir as well."

Denethor ignored Boromir's attempt at levity. "I saw him practicing with you," he said, forcing himself not to admonish his son for being bested so easily – that was what Faramir likely wanted, to sew discord between them and win the Steward's favor for himself. Denethor had another idea though.

"Then I need not tell you how superior he is," Boromir said. "I was really hoping that we could find him a place in –"

"Ithilien," Denethor interrupted. "I want him in Ithilien, the Rangers."

"That was exactly what I was going to say," Boromir said, filling his plate. "The only trouble is that it is so dangerous out there, though, granted, that is where men of his skill are needed. I wish we could afford to be selfish and keep him here for our own defense; it would give me greater peace of mind. I genuinely like him, father. It is ages since I had a friend who I didn't suspect only liked me because I am your heir."

Denethor wished his son would not be so easily deceived as his grandfather was when Thorongil was around. Denethor knew that this Faramir was dangerous to the Stewardship. There was almost a motivation to have Boromir become acquainted with the palantír, that his mind might learn to better perceive the wills of others, but Denethor pushed that thought away… the seeing stone was his and his alone; no other could be trusted with it! Yes, Faramir would go to Ithilien with the Rangers, not because he felt that "men of his skill" were needed, but because it was distant and dangerous. He wanted the son of Thorongil as far away from Minas Tirith as possible. Only now did he see the mistake he made twenty years ago when he went after Thorongil in his sleep after learning that the child was not his. He should have done what he originally planned: steal the child and leave it alone in the woods.

ooo

_Ok, so i lied, i am still updating twice a day. No idea how long this is going to continue. I thought i could quit at any time..._

_AM: Glad to hear from you again. You don't trust Denethor? Whyever not?_

_Elenhin: Well, it is my hope that any reader of mine is a happy reader, but i would not be one to presume. Even growing up without a younger brother, Boromir is still the best when it comes to taking care of others. He's made me proud, for a while there i was a little worried that he might act stand-offish, but all has turned out well... so far._

_steelelf: My! Everyone seems to think Denethor is going to behave poorly. I can't imagine such a thing!_


	34. As Time Goes By

Now that Faramir had access to the Citadel and no official duties assigned he spent nearly all day, every day in Minas Tirith's library. He promptly made a new friend in the archivist there as well, who was usually one of the loneliest men in the city.

Over the next weeks Boromir and Faramir grew increasingly close. Every evening Boromir would have to go deeper and deeper into the library to find his little brother and call him out for their nightly ale at the Merry Widow.

One afternoon when it was murderously hot in Minas Tirith Boromir managed to drag Faramir out of the city before he even got to think of heading to the library. Boromir even had his horse ready for him and as soon as Faramir finished breaking fast with his two companions, Boromir had him mounted up and out of the city. They rode southeast for about a league until they came to the river. The entire way, Boromir had refused to say what he was up to, then he stopped at the river's edge and turned to Faramir, asking, "you do swim, do you not?"

Faramir, still a little perplexed, nodded and said, "of course i do, but why -"

Boromir said nothing, but stripped down and plunged into the refreshing river. Faramir got the hint and followed suit. It was a rare sight, two grown, tested men acting like careless boys. Neither even thought about going back to the city until sunset and in the meantime they spent the entire day swimming and picnicking, talking and teasing, generally acting as though they were true brothers since day one.

"It is not the sea, but it is refreshing," Boromir said as they lay in the shade of the riverbank.

"You know the sea?" Faramir asked.

"I should, i lived there for fifteen years," Boromir said grinning. "When i was five my father rode out on some long mission, the next day my mother and i went south to Dol Amroth and i lived there ever since. Mumma was from Dol Amroth and we lived with her brother. My uncle was my best friend growing up. We used to build sandcastles and fight sea-monsters and all sorts of mischief. I will never forget my father's one and only visit to us. He came on a rainy day, wearing a green cloak, and i took him for a sea-monster and started striking him with my little waster. Well, after all, i had to protect my mumma, didn't i?"

Faramir glanced over at Boromir. "I never knew my naneth."

"I am sorry to hear that," Boromir said. "Every son needs his mother."

"Aye, likely so. My father really made up for it though. He and I were the best of friends." Faramir was surprised how easy it was to talk to Boromir about his family, considering how choked he usually got just thinking of home, but by now he considered Boromir to be family as well. "I miss my father so much." Faramir did not attempt to inhibit the tears which rose from his heart. "I did not even say goodbye to him."

For a moment it was a curious thing to Boromir that such an astonishing soldier did not hide his gentle side, as just about every other man he'd ever met did. It took effect on him though and he pulled Faramir into his arms. He could not even imagine what it must be like to be stranger in a strange land. "Losing someone you love is the hardest thing in the world," Boromir said with all compassion.

Faramir glanced up at his understanding big brother. "I did not lose him, he lost me. I left home when I - well, I needed to go out on my own, it was not my father's fault. I was just not strong enough to tell him, I did not want to see how it would break his heart, so I left on impulse one night. I feel terrible for what I have done now, but, there is little I can do about it apart from holding to the hope that I will see him again. I almost wonder that my uncles have not come after me yet, my grandfather must have them under lock and key, for they were fierce protectors."

"Or perhaps they understand your motives for leaving? Everyone is young and rash at least once," Boromir said.

Faramir laughed through the few remaining tears. "You do not know my uncles. They are young and rash forever. Thank you, big brother, you have made me feel much better," Faramir said sincerely.

"I want you to take that seriously, about being your big brother," Boromir said. "I always wanted a little brother, ever since i was five. If there is ever anything troubling you or even if you just do not wish to be alone, come to me. Now that i have a little brother, i need to make up for lost time."

"I will take it seriously," Faramir promised. "You are the closest thing to family i have here."

"Good. Since we are agreed on that, I suppose I can now admit to you that I am the Steward's son." Boromir tossed a stick into the river and looked sideways at Faramir, gauging his reaction.

Faramir looked rather surprised but thought on it for a moment and said, "that rather makes sense I believe. I had wondered how you were in so good with the Steward when everyone else cowers before him."

"Then you promise that you will start bowing to me or fawning over me or watching what you say around me?" Boromir said sounding a bit tragic.

Faramir laughed. "Of course not! Why would I do that? You and I are friends."

"You do not know what a relief that is. People were a bit more relaxed in Dol Amroth, but when I came back here, I was put on a pedestal so high my nose bled and I had to gasp for air. All this time you have treated me as a normal person and I can not tell you how refreshing it has been. I was reluctant to say anything, especially after you swore yourself to my father, for fear that you would not want to be my friend anymore. I guess I sound about ten years old, do I not?"

Faramir just smiled and shook his head. "No," he said, "true friends are hard to come by and easy to lose." He considered sharing with Boromir the secret of his own heritage, but though he felt a bit guilty about keeping a secret when Boromir shared one, something told Faramir that it was just not the right time. He understood better now his father's reasons for not speaking of their bloodline until he did and wished that he'd had such understanding a few months ago.

"Well…" Boromir said, glancing back toward the city. He was about to suggest that they make for home, now the that sun was nearly entirely set already, but a glowing light in the top of the Tower of Ecthelion caught his eye. Boromir did not know what caused it, but he knew the result: every time he saw that glow in the tower, his father's temper took a turn for the worst. It was not something he felt like dealing with at the moment. "Faramir, what say we just stay out here tonight? It should be warm all night, and it would get you in practice for heading out with the Rangers in a couple months."

Faramir agreed to that, but jokingly said, "in that case, can I prevail upon the Steward's son to have this day struck from my tab at the Guesthouse?"

"I will do better than that, little brother. He can send me the bill. I see no reason for you and your companions to stay in that place. Why not hire something on the fifth level? No, do not worry about the cost, put it on my account," Boromir offered openhandedly.

"I thought you did not want anyone treating you differently?" Faramir said skeptically.

"I do not, but this is different," Boromir insisted.

"No, it is not. I do not want anyone treating me differently either. People will say that I am using your friendship, if they do not already," Faramir maintained.

"The people also say that you are my long lost brother, which is, of course, nearly true, but who cares what they say? I know that you still miss your home, I do not blame you in the least, and I would do what I can for you, and your companions as well. It is the least I can do to show my appreciation for the service the three of you will undertake and the service you have already taken upon yourself."

"Boromir, if ever a man was to have a big brother he should wish him to be as good a man as you," Faramir said with much sentiment.

Hugging his little brother tightly, Boromir said, "you can blame my mumma and uncle for that. I just want to see my little brother comfortable before he has to go out into that margin of land for six months."

So it was for the next fifteen years, Boromir and Faramir regarded one another as not only the dearest of friends, but brothers as well, and turned to each other for support. Faramir came to be, more or less, comfortable in Gondor, though he enjoyed his time in the woods of Ithilien much more than in the city. When he was in Minas Tirith, Faramir spent much of his time with either his brother or a book. In that time, Faramir was made Captain of the Rangers, though the unfortunate, yet not unforeseen, side effect of that was that he had less time to spend with his brother as both men were kept quite busy with their duties.

On one rare occasion that Faramir had a bit of time to spend in the library of Minas Tirith in his 34th year, he received a very welcome surprise. Faramir headed down into the deepest parts of the archives and there he froze still, wondering if he was seeing things… or people, rather. "Mithrandir?" he asked, making sure his eyes were not deceived, though there was hardly any mistaking that hat and beard.

Looking up, the elderly wizard smiled brightly. "Well, Faramir, this is a surprise!" he said as though he had only just seen him last year at a Mid-year's Day festival.

Faramir ran to him and held his old friend tightly. All at once his tears broke along with a million questions about home.

"Easy, lad!" Gandalf chuckled kindly. "I may be a Maia," he whispered, "but even I can not answer more than one question at once. Here," he said, handing Faramir a flask, "take a bit of this, unless another reminder of home is unwelcome?"

"Unwelcome? A month after I left I wanted to turn back! Oh… Valar! Tell me everything, but more than anything, tell me of my father."

Gandalf sighed. "I am afraid I can not tell you much about anything at the moment, and I was just finishing here and about to leave. Everything must be done in haste these days. I know that is less than satisfying. I can tell you that your father is faring well enough, though he has gone all bitter and grim again, of course you never knew him that way, but he misses his son terribly."

"Do you intend to see him again soon?" Faramir asked.

"As soon as I leave here," Gandalf replied.

"Then tell him that I love him, please." Faramir was more than a bit choked and could only manage a whisper.

"I needn't tell him that, Faramir. He never doubted it," Gandalf said kindly.

"Then tell him I am sorry."

Gandalf smiled. "That I shall tell him, and I will tell him that I found you not only well, but wandering around in the most remote places of the library. That will cheer him immensely. I wish I could stay and spend some time catching up with you, but now that I have more information than I expected to find, I must rush. Continue to take care of yourself, Faramir, and do not worry, our time is coming soon." With that the Wizard hurried away like he was escaping a burning building.

For nearly a half an hour Faramir just stood there trying to figure out his old friend's cryptic words before Boromir found him and dragged back into the light of day. It was only several months later that Faramir began to have a recurring dream that seemed to be calling him home:

_Seek for the Sword that was broken:  
In Imladris it dwells;  
There shall be counsels taken  
Stronger than Morgul-spells.  
There shall be shown a token  
That Doom is near at hand,  
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,  
And the Halfling forth shall stand._

ooo

_Circini: Welcome and thank you for the kind words. I try to write these guys realistically, if i can't imagine a person behaving a certain way, i usually won't write it. I am very glad to have kept your interest, i do worry ocassionally about writing the kind of stories that people read the first chapter of and decide it's time to give up reading fanfics. I wouldn't think it's a bad thing to be leery about what you read here, most of us are._

_linda: Denethor definitely knows too much, though it seems as if he is biding his time for now, keeping Fara' out on the front lines._

_Elenhin: You certainly do understand Boromir as i have written him. I love it when someone sees below the surface of the words i have here to understand the motives and reasons in the story. It makes me feel that i am really doing my job well in relating all of this highly important material :)_

_steelelf: Sarcasm is impossible to get out, utterly impossible. Once it's there, it's there for good. Why do you think that Dinsdale Pirana used it? About Denethor's robes... i don't even want to go there._


	35. Stronger Than Morgul Spells

It was about mid-May, just after Faramir's 35th birthday, that Denethor charged Faramir with the defense of Osgiliath, the ruined fort and city on the river, Minas Tirith's last defense. Just the fact that his father was stationing men there raised alarms with Boromir, but this had been a long time in coming and he had faith that if anyone could do, his little brother could.

What Boromir did not know or read into it was that Denethor was growing less patient with Faramir with every passing year. He expected that the spawn of Thorongil would have been taken care of when he sent him into Ithilien, the most dangerous land in Gondor. But for 15 years now he had not only survived but rather thrived out there. Denethor was very unpleased and rather angry with himself for not seeing that his rival's son would be no less persistent.

Faramir was too honorable a man to ever say so, but it seemed to him that the closer he and Boromir became, the harder on him the Steward was. Many times was Faramir required to deliver a report privately upon his return from a shift in Ithilien, this was not required of any other soldiers, and it was clear to Faramir that it was only required of him so that Denethor could take the opportunity to deride his leadership and techniques and demand more from the Captain of the Rangers. It was getting so that it was a test of his nerves to even see the Steward.

It so happened that it was only a month into the occupation of Osgiliath that the former capital of Gondor was attacked by Sauron's forces. The Rangers normally stationed in Ithilien were not as sizable as other companies because they were a more elite corps. For two days Faramir's men were fighting to keep the further bank when it became clear to Faramir that there was no way they could hold the abandoned city alone, and he called on back-up aid from Minas Tirith. Boromir answered the call almost before it came and between them they managed to hold the western shore.

There were those who, after a battle, wanted nothing but food, ale, and sleep. There were also those who, while they wanted sleep as much as everyone else, were doomed not to get any, and among them were Boromir and Faramir, though for different reasons. After a battle, Boromir could not sleep for the stimulation still coursing through him. Faramir, on the hand, could not sleep because of the horror of it. He had never known true fear and what it meant to live so close to Mordor until he had seen the Nazgûl that day. And yet, that was not what was most at fault for Faramir's restlessness, nor was it the fact that he, Boromir, Damrod, and Mablung had very nearly given their lives for the west bank of the Anduin when that bridge gave out from under them. More than anything, it was his dream.

That night Boromir found his little brother sitting along in one of the many shells of buildings that used to be magnificent works of architecture. Faramir himself seemed to be in a shell of his own. Being the Steward's son, Boromir had managed to make off with two cups of hot tea, one of which Faramir numbly accepted. The two sat silently for a while, Faramir because he was deep in musing, Boromir because he could tell his little brother was deep in musing, that faraway look said it every time.

When the steam from Faramir's tea stopped rising Boromir thought he'd best bring him back to Middle-earth before his mind wandered away permanently. "That was another fine mess you pulled me out of," Boromir started, testing the waters. Ah-ha! It was working, Boromir told himself as Faramir looked up.

"_I_ pulled _you_ out? We never would have been able to hold the west bank if you had not come when you did," Faramir said.

Boromir just shook his head. "Yes, you pulled me out, if you hadn't i would be floating down the Anduin and out to sea as we speak."

Boromir's words gave Faramir a creeping chill and a feeling came over him that he wholly detested. In that moment, Faramir knew that the War had begun and that it would change their lives forever.

"Faramir, come, we were successful, we are still alive and we held off Mordor. Today, life is good, little brother. And drink your tea before it gets cold," Boromir coaxed.

"Successful?" Faramir said disbelievingly. "How many little brothers lost their big brothers this day?"

Boromir sighed and sat back. For as much as Faramir was skilled, he just did not see it the same way Boromir did. And yet, Faramir's words always offered an insight that Boromir otherwise would not have caught. "How many big brothers lost their little brothers this day? I know of one who did _not_ and is eternally grateful for it." The brothers embraced for a long time before Boromir eventually said, "there is more troubling you than this day's work. I can tell, Fara'. What is it?"

Faramir slowly pulled away and sat back down, shaking his head. "It is nothing, brother. I am growing homesick again, that is all."

Boromir looked skeptical but kissed his brother's forehead and said, "get some rest, Faramir. Tomorrow we go home for a while."

For the next ten days Faramir had difficulty sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes and drifted off he was visited again by the same voice essentially urging him to go home. He desperately wanted to heed it, but he rejected it with all of his strength, telling himself that it was just because it had been 15 years almost to the date. He could scarcely just leave Minas Tirith as he had home. Life had gotten a lot more complicated than Faramir ever imagined it would in those 15 years.

One morning after another night of interrupted sleep Faramir almost blindly made his way up to the library. He was sick of hearing in his dream over and over about Isildur's Bane and having no idea what that was exactly. Perhaps it had something to do with the research Mithrandir was doing a few months ago. Oh, but that renewed his hope immeasurably, just knowing that his father was still alive and traveling with Gandalf.

That morning Faramir encountered two firsts, not only did he run into Boromir who was looking, for the first time in Faramir's recollection, truly lost in thought, but then his big brother all but pulled him inside the library and deep into the stacks at that. "Boromir," Faramir said, keeping his voice down, "are you well?"

Boromir, to Faramir's concern, just shook his head. "No one would hear us here, would they?"

Faramir shrugged, "i doubt they would, unless there are Elves around."

Boromir looked serious though. "I had a dream last night and i do not know what to make of it. You know more of these things than i do."

For a moment Faramir wondered if they'd had the same dream, but, then, that was hardly possible, was it?

"I am no poet, nor have i ever loved trying to figure out what poets are trying to say, but i can not stop thinking about this. There was a storm in the east, though light lingered in the west, and i heard a voice in the west that chilled me, saying, '_Seek for the Sword that was broken: In Imladris it dwells..._' Our legends have said that belongings of Isildur were taken to a land called Imladris," Boromir said thoughtfully, trying to decipher this riddle bit by bit. "It went on, '_there shall be counsels taken, stronger than Morgul-spells_.' I have no idea what that may mean, how can mere talk be stronger than anything that comes out of that place? '_There shall be shown a token, that Doom is near at hand, for Isildur's Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand_.' That is what plagues me most, though. It is as though this speaker is urging me to go and do something about this, but i do not even know where Imladris is, nor how this Isildur's Bane shall waken, and least of all do i know what a Halfling is."

Faramir stood in shock and no small amount of fear. It was not just him, then. He longed to tell Boromir that he had a pretty good idea of what most of the riddle meant, but that would be dangerous, no doubt about it. Faramir was also starting to understand what Mithrandir had said about their time coming. The way he saw it, that could either have meant their time of glory, or time of death. Neither would surprise him at this point.

Faramir knew exactly which sword was referred to, that was no mystery to him. He'd grown up with it, and, according to his father, it was nearly the death of him when he was three and wanted to see what it was that was held so reverentially up on the plinth. He tried to pull himself up by tugging at the cloth and one of the shards slipped and cut him. Had Aragorn not come looking for his wandering little boy when he did, the child might not have survived... but then, his father might not have either, had that been the case.

He also had a pretty good idea of how counsel in Imladris could be stronger than the dark of the Dark Lord, though whether for good or ill, he could not say. Faramir still remembered the downright _heated_ arguments that Glorfindel and Erestor used to get into and he was beginning to wish he'd asked Gandalf if either of them was still surviving the other. Kidding aside, Faramir knew very well just how powerful Elrond was. There was something about being around his daeradar that made him feel truly protected.

Faramir knew, too, what Halflings were. They were what he and his father used to take patrols to protect. He was never sure why, they seemed like a very peaceful people and he could not imagine why anyone would attack such simple folk, but it was at Gandalf's insistence and one did not question Gandalf; it was impossible to get a real answer anyway.

Faramir saw this now clearer than ever as his time to return to his home. He had served his time and now he needed to leave. Yet, he needed to be tactful about it and more than just careful. "I can not tell you what Isildur's Bane is," Faramir said truthfully to Boromir, "but i agree that this is a calling. I have been having exactly the same dream since the night before Osgiliath was attacked. It made me feel like a bit of a black cat, honestly. Things have just continued to decline since i arrived."

"Don't say that, little brother. For one, things in Gondor have been declining since Mardil's day, and for another, if you hadn't come, i'd still be an only child," he said with a grin. "But we are still left with the problem of what to do. If you have had this dream too, perhaps we should both go. Come, let us bring this matter to father, the sooner that we may have this done. I feel compelled to this as i have never felt to anything else before."

Faramir did not love the idea of bringing the matter to the Steward, who Faramir feared knew more about him than he intended for anyone to know, but he said naught and went along with it. Boromir told Denethor the riddle and there was an eerie light in the Steward's eye. All he said, though, was that Imladris was the home of Elrond, the Elf-lord, in the north.

Faramir forced himself not to roll his eyes, but his patience was all but diminished. "My lord," he said, stepping forward, "i lived in the north and served there with the Rangers. I can go to Imladris and stand for Gondor in counsel. I would that Boromir would go, too, but surely the Captain-General can not be sent away on such a journey in such a precarious time."

Denethor scowled at Faramir and Boromir just gaped at him, that had not been in their plan. "Never speak to _me_ in such a manner!" Denethor snapped dangerously. Boromir, never minding the sudden change in his little brother, stepped protectively in front of Faramir again, much to Denethor's agitation. Denethor ordered him to stand aside, though, and Boromir had no choice. Faramir did not seem afraid in the least. "I know what you would do," Denethor hissed, stalking close to the younger man, "you would take all the knowledge, all of the secrets, all of the _spywork_ you have done back to _him_. No, i want you were i can keep an eye on you."

"Father," Boromir interceded, "what Faramir says is true. He knows the way north, and perhaps we could benefit from this counsel."

"I will not send Faramir for this mission. I refuse it! If anyone is to go, it must be someone i can rely on," Denethor said, resting his eyes on Boromir.

"How can i go without Faramir? He know the way!" Boromir insisted. "Without him, i would be wandering around up there and possibly never find where i am going. I could be lost out there forever."

"There are maps, Boromir. I have already said that i refuse to allow Faramir to go, do you wish to question my judgment?" Denethor knew well what Isildur's Bane was and he knew that once Boromir found out, he would do the right thing and bring it to Gondor so that they could be victorious and rebuild the kingdom to what it once was. That would, naturally, need a king... and since there were none of Isildur's line left, Denethor reasoned he could think of the next best thing.

Boromir looked over at Faramir and back to his father. He wondered what had brought on this mood this time. Sighing deeply he said, "no, sire," and turned to leave.

Faramir, on the other hand, did not leave. He had gotten rather bold and waited for Boromir to leave the hall before walking up to Denethor, who was still glaring daggers at him. "Tell me what you know," Faramir said evenly.

"I know that you wish to return to the north. I know that you know more than just the way north, you know the way directly to Imladris. After all, you were raised there," Denethor said with a frightening grin. "I also know that you are as much a danger to me as your father once was, which is why you will be staying here. Now that my son has bailed you out of that Osgiliath debacle, i am interested to see if you can hold your own without him rushing to your aid - you know, now that the War is properly begun."

"That is what i thought," Faramir said, his voice like steel. "In that case, i quit my service of you." Faramir moved to take off the tunic he wore, green, embroidered with the White Tree.

"You can not! You swore an oath binding yourself to me! It was the stupidest thing you ever did," Denethor's grin turned menacing, "apart from being born, that is."

"The oath i swore to you was a personal one, that means you have an end of the bargain to uphold as well. You have not done that, and so _you_ are the one who broke troth, not i. I have served you faithfully in the worst places of this kingdom without question or complaint; you have done nothing to look after my well being, though. I owe you no allegiance."

"You owe me your life!" Denethor raged on. "I choose to let you live when you were but an infant, i would have killed your father, but i found myself locked in a dungeon in that Elf-infested madhouse you call home."

"Then it is scarcely you i owe my life to, but whoever stopped you. Consider me no longer in your service," Faramir said, dropping the tunic on the floor at Denethor's feet and walking away.

"Since you are no longer in my service," Denethor said just as Faramir was about to close the door to the hall behind him, "i have no reason to tell you of your mother."

"If you think you can buy me back with that, you are sadly mistaken. The last time a man tried to tell me of my mother, i left then too," was all that Faramir said.

ooo

_AM: I can't help how fast i go. I have tried to slow down, but the words just keep coming._

_linda: Bori' and Fara' are really great together. I don't think i've written a fic yet that had them together, so i am glad it comes across so well. You have to feel bad for Aragorn, but you know that whenever he got that news from Gandalf he was probably over the moon with joy._

_steelelf: A brief glimpse at good old Gandy, yes, i could not resist, could i? I still say that sarcasm will never wash out!_

_Elenhin: You are really good at reading my next moves. Great minds think alike, right?_


	36. At the Outset

Boromir had been waiting outside in the courtyard since he realized that Faramir was not right behind him. He was surprisingly tense until he saw Faramir exit the Tower. He hurried over to him at once and said, "Faramir, i apologize."

"For what?" Faramir said, unmindful of how truly sorry his big brother was.

"For my father. I should have stayed with you, it's just i was so angry with him. I need you on this mission and he will not see... He's gotten so much worse lately. He never used to be like this. It all started when mumma lost her baby when i was 5." Boromir was surprised that he was able to talk of such things to Faramir, ordinarily he would not even admit these truths to himself.

At that moment, something of a revelation came to Faramir and he realized something that made him understand many things that he had wondered about. When Boromir said that his mother had lost a child when he was 5, it all made sense. For years he had wondered how it came to be that they bore such a resemblance to one another, and, more than that,he was plagued by something his father had said before he left: that had he left him in Gondor, he would have been raised as the son of the Steward. Faramir never understood it until now, but he and Boromir were half brothers, he'd stake his life on it. Yet,he knew that still this was neither the time nor the placefor discussion ofthe matter.

Instead Faramir just smiled at Boromir and said, "you need not apologize for him. Let's go, i will pack up what i need and meet you in the stables. Is an hour long enough?"

Boromir just looked confused. "What do you mean, Faramir?"

"I mean, let's go. I know you figured on waiting a couple of days to leave, but i am not really willing to wait that now. Let us just get gone," Faramir said.

For a moment Boromir looked petrified. Only just a moment ago, his father had insisted that there was no way he would permit Faramir to go along. Now here was his little brother urging him to get ready so that _they_ could be gone. Had Faramir done something? Had he taken a swing at the Steward, perhaps, and now wanted to get away as fast as possible?

"_Sidh_, brother. I merely had words with him," Faramir said, reading his brother like a book.

"What words could possibly make father change his mind, or mood?" Boromir said almost hesitantly.

"The words, 'i quit,'" Faramir said seriously.

"You what? Faramir, you cannot just quit the service of the Steward! It is not done." Boromir was near a state of panic and only just realized that indeed his brother was not wearing his tunic.

"I quit because he failed to uphold his end of that pledge," Faramir explained calmly. "'A man must be accountable for the fealty given him,' as someone very wise once said. I would be a fool to remain in his service at this point and since i am not sworn to the service of _Gondor_, only to Denethor, i was able to make that choice."

Boromir just shook his head. "Are you really certain that is legal?" he said.

"Most assuredly it is! That is how the system of fealty has worked for many hundreds of years," Faramir said.

"Then you will come north with me?" Boromir asked, attempting to change the subject.

"I would love to, if you would get a move on and get yourself ready," Faramir said with a grin.

With that they parted and were quick to be ready to leave. As Boromir was heading back across the courtyard, though, his father called to him from steps of the tower. Boromir rolled his eyes but fixed a pleasant smile on his face as he turned. "Yes, father?"

"Come with me," Denethor beckoned.

Boromir sighed. "Father, i am just leaving."

"Come, now, Boromir," Denethor ordered. Boromir reluctantly followed his father into the Tower of Ecthelion and up to it's highest room. "I should have brought you here years ago, but now i will have to trust that this will do," Denethor said, reaching for a lamp which was suspended from the ceiling. Pulling it, a secret opening was revealed and Denethor climbed up, Boromir following, now curiously. "I will not have you go into the north, into the land of the Elves, without seeing you strengthen your mind against their trickery. You must remember _Gondor_ while you are in that place, for they will try to dissuade you from the right path."

"Father, i do not understand what you are saying," Boromir said, fed up with this paranoid behavior of his father's. "I must go if i am to get anywhere before nightfall."

"Look, Boromir!" Denethor cried, pulling back a heavy cloth which covered the pedestal.

ooo

Faramir waited nearly a half an hour longer than he expected before Boromir finally showed up. "It's about time! I thought maybe you got lost... Boromir? What is wrong? You look unwell." And he did, Boromir was deathly pale, and Faramir was nearly ready to usher his brother across the street to the Houses of Healing.

"I am fine," Boromir said in a brusque tone that Faramir did not much care for. In truth, Boromir did not feel fine, but he suddenly wanted to be as far away from Minas Tirith as possible. "Let's go," he said, mounting but nearly missing the stirrup.

"Boromir, we should not set out if you do not feel well. It could turn serious and it is not wise to be out in the middle of nowhere if you need medical -"

"I said i am fine. I do not want to be gainsaid on how _i_ feel! Come on, now it is _you_ who is holding us up with your nervousness." Boromir rode passed Faramir and out of the stable, leaving his little brother standing there in shock. He finally remembered to close his gaping mouth and get into the saddle when his horse nudged him in the back. He caught up with Boromir in the fourth circle, but neither said a word to one another until they broke for camp at Greywood that night.

Both knew the procedure for setting up a camp well enough and neither spoke until they were settled into their bedrolls for the night. Now that he was away from the city, Boromir had no idea what had brought on his sudden foul temper. "Faramir?" he whispered to the figure his back. He received a mumbled reply that sounded enough like "yes?" for him to continue. Leastways it didn't sound much like "shut up and leave me alone." "Faramir, i'm sorry. I do not know what made me behave that way. You were right, i did not feel well, but i am truly all right now. Forgive me?"

Both were sitting up by then and Faramir hugged him. "You are lucky you are my brother and you can get away with behavior like that."

"I am lucky to be your brother," Boromir said earnestly. "I promise i won't be like that again. Something just came over me, i did not feel myself."

"_Dina,_" Faramir said gently. "Let us get some sleep, we have a rather long road ahead of us, and i, for one, have not been sleeping well lately as it is."

ooo

_Sidh- peace_

_Dina - be quiet, hush_

_linda: The brothers are so dear to one another. I was going to make this chapter longer, but there is more ahead for their road trip. _

_The Last Hope: Thank you very much for your generous words! It is reassuring for me to know that even if my ideas are "controversial", shall we say, they can still capture your attention. It is also always good to know that my readers are seeing the core elements i have written into the story._

_Escribej: Glad to hear from you! Hopefully i can continue to meet your expectations :)_

_steelelf: Yep and yep. I promise to i will not to use too much sarcasm, but a funny thing about that: last week at work we had a visit by three nuns from Poland. They had some background in English, but because it was taught by a Polish person, they were basically learning the language all over again since they got here on Monday. They are being escorted by a nun whose good friend is teaching them "American English" - one of the first words they learned when they got here was "sarcastic" as applied to Sr. Dorothy by her friend, their teacher, which they found hilarious. It just goes to show how important sarcasm is in the English language._

_Chibi - Thank you. I was just dying to finally write a Faramir that is different from everyone else's Faramir. I've wanted to see him stand up for himself without running away, but walking away._

_Elenhin: Their road trip will indeed be interesting. I was going to pad this chapter out and include the rest of the trip up until Rivendell, but i will hold that off for the next chapter so that i can be a little more detailed in it. We have to see more of the brothers together, that is for certain._

_irene: Thank you, thank you, thank you! Wasn't it refreshing to see Faramir tell Denethor off for a change? It felt so good to write._

_AM: Your equation is correct... i think. Denethor and Aragorn are half-brothers. So are Bori' and Fara'. That might make them cousins, but i'm not terrifically sure. You'd have to ask a Hobbit about that._

_estelle: I am glad that you are enjoying. I've glad that the brother's bond hascome out so vibrant. Sometimes you write something and then wonder if others will see the picture you were painting._

_I'm glad everyone enjoyed that last chapter so much! I love all of your reviews!_


	37. The Road North

The brothers had an easier time than their start for the rest of their road to Edoras, the first stop. They did, however, receive the now traditional greeting of the Mark in the Eastfold. Boromir was more than a little offended, but Faramir assured him that it was really just a matter of protocol and that the last time he had been through Rohan he'd had a nice rest and meal and replenished supplies.

Just how much had changed in 15 years time, however, was alarming to Faramir. Apparently, not only were orcs a problem in the Eastfold, but now, too, were the Dunlendings were becoming more aggressive in the Westfold as well. More than that, what truly distressed Faramir was to see what had become of King Théoden. This man was younger than his own father, but looked to be agéd more than Mithrandir, when only 15 years ago he was a hale and strong leader of his people.

Faramir wondered if the mantle of leadership was truly so heavy, for Denethor, too, seemed over-aged for one of his bloodlines. He remembered that even his daeradar at times seemed weary, but then again, that was usually because the twins were around. It seemed to Faramir, though, that there was more to it than just the burdens of rule, at least in Théoden and Denethor's cases, and he had a very uneasy feeling in Meduseld whereas he once felt welcome. He felt he was able to pinpoint his uneasiness on the perturbing man who clung to the King like a shadow, a fell shadow, or like a leech, sucking the life-blood from this once hearty man.

Boromir and Faramir were extended little welcome and merely told that they may continue on. Once again, Boromir felt offended, not realizing that it was only because he was heir to the Stewardship that he and his companion were permitted passage. Faramir, however, was glad to be away from there, regardless of whether they had any proper rest or meals or any such things.

Just before they reached the Fords of Isen, however, they were stopped and literally searched by another company of Rohirrim, despite Boromir's challenging insistence that they had been given permission to pass from the King. Faramir recognized the captain as the man who had stopped him 15 years ago, the King's son, but now he looked much grimmer than he did in those days. The world was changing so fast, and Faramir almost feared what he would find in Rivendell. Eventually they were let pass, but Théodred warned them strongly about going through Dunland. Boromir, at the utter end of his patience, shouted, "we are going north, what do you expect us to do? Go south to the sail and sail up the river?"

"It might well be worth your trouble," Théodred said. "If you ride through Dunland, i hope you can ride fast."

Faramir had a mind to caution more like Théodred's than Boromir's, and once they were out of the Gap of Rohan, Faramir suggested either staying by the foothills or going due west until they reached the Greyflood, crossing it, and going north from there.

Taking a look at a map, though, Boromir believed that going west would set them too far off course and he feared that staying in the foothills would get them lost. Boromir was all for staying on the South Road and asserting their power if it came to some trouble with the Dunlendings. It did not set well with Faramir, but he agreed, provided they ride hard, take little rest, and keep watches until Tharbad. Twice they had to vacate a campsite prematurely and once they were pressed to fighting out of a slight "situation." When they did reach Tharbad they camped for two solid days before even thinking of moving on.

Faramir would have stayed an extra day at Tharbad, the river was running high and the ford was not the safest anyway. The dark clouds over the Misty Mountains told Faramir that there was rainfall there which was now swelling the river. He really would have rather preferred heading back east to Ost-in-Edhil, but for Boromir that was right out. Boromir wanted to cross at Tharbad and head north until they picked up the East Road, saying that where there was a road, there was a way. He did not favor striking directly north and "wandering" without a proper path.

Faramir ceded to his brother again, though he was losing his patience. Had not Boromir claimed to need him on this trip? Faramir walked his horse across first and then Boromir followed. Halfway over, however, Boromir's horse missed her footing. Faramir turned back to help try to get her back up, but the horse's panic combined with the flow of the river was just too much. Faramir's horse was walking back to her master, almost as though he wanted to help save Boromir's horse as well, but the ruined bridge that served as the ford began to crumble rapidly out from under them and it was all they could do to jump back across to land just in time. Both horses and all of their supplies, save one pack that Faramir carried, were lost.

Boromir sat silently on the riverbank for some while before speaking. "This was a mistake. We should turn back. This whole time we have been plagued by one thing after another. We are even losing our patience with one another, little brother."

Faramir sighed. "If you wish to turn back, that choice is yours, but as for me, i will continue."

"How? How can you hope to continue now that our maps, our food, everything, are washed away? We would have to walk the entire way to some place that i never even saw on a map. For all the gods know, perhaps it is naught but a myth. Perhaps there is no Imladris and we are letting ourselves go on a wild goose chase."

"There is most certainly an Imladris, though you will not find it on a map," Faramir said. "Please trust me, Boromir, i can get us there. After all, is that not why i quit my service, to come and help you? As for going on foot, it would be a lot more advisable for us to continue to Imladris on foot than to go back through Dunland."

Boromir closed his eyes and laid down on the ground. "Perhaps we should just wait here for a boat to come down the river. Only our luck would be that it had no paddles and was full of holes."

"Come on, brother," Faramir said encouragingly. "Think of it this way, at least now we have less of a burden to carry."

"Oh, yes? That will be fine when we are lost and starving in the middle of nowhere," Boromir said gloomily, though he got up and followed his little brother.

"We shall scarcely starve," Faramir said chuckling, unfathomable to Boromir considering their situation. "Anything but, in fact, there is much to sustain us this time of year. We shall need to stay close to the river for water, but if you let me lead we will get there fine, it will just take a little bit longer."

How his little brother maintained not only his optimism but also his sense of direction was a mystery to Boromir. He was sure that they would have reached their destination by the end of August, but Faramir seemed to think they would have at least two months more to go. It was a long and difficult journey without horses and living off the land as they were, but Faramir kept them going.

Boromir wondered just when the counsels spoken of in their dream were supposed to take place and if they would not get there only to learn that all counsel had been dispensed a month beforehand. Boromir would have likely strangled someone had that been the case. There was one thing that Boromir was hopeful of, though. "Faramir," he said to his little brother, "you said that you lived here in the north. I know how dearly you wish to see your home again. Perhaps it might be possible for us to stop our way, we could rest and you could spend a few days home again?"

"I would not have come all this way without that thought in mind," Faramir assured Boromir, though he knew his big brother thought that meant they would stopping en route. Weeks went by and Faramir had yet to point out any home where they could rest. Boromir suddenly had a new found respect for the Rangers who lived in this country and wondered how any could survive life like this. Faramir was not altogether sure how much longer he could have survived life in city and military. The freedom that was this land had reinvigorated him, despite their arduous journey, and every day they came closer to Rivendell, closer to home, the more Faramir could sense the comfort that was Imladris.

After over three months of traveling, double what it should have taken, Faramir finally saw up ahead the stand of trees, now brightly colored of autumn, that marked the southern outermost boundary of the Imladris tour of duty area. Faramir's heart leapt and he urged Boromir to hurry on. Faramir practically ran into the woods, expecting to be greeted at any moment by either Glorfindel or the twins, perhaps even Gildor, but the trees were particularly silent and Faramir heard no songs nor even sensed anyone out on patrol. It was curious to him that there should be no one here on guard, but he felt none the less safe and at home.

Boromir, on the other hand, did not like the woodlands one bit. He felt not wholly welcome, as though there was some power in the very air which rejected something in him. "Faramir," he called, "where are we? What is this place?"

"This," Faramir said, smiling, "is Imladris," and he hurried onward.

Boromir was more than bewildered as to how his little brother had known this place as though it was the home that he had so longed for while in Gondor. Suddenly a thought came to him, perhaps it was the Elven trickery which his father had warned him against that caused him to feel uncomfortable here. Still, he trusted Faramir and followed him. It was afternoon when they first walked under the leaves and evening was hastening on but still there had been no signs of any civilization here; it was all trees as far as Boromir could tell. Night began to fall and Boromir was all for laying down under a tree and sleeping until morning, but Faramir insisted that they go on, saying that they would reach their destination in only a couple more hours, that the ford was near, and after that they would have real beds and food and a hot bath. That promise was the only thing that kept Boromir's legs moving.

ooo

Within the Last Homely House that night Elrond had a raging headache and kept trying to get away and drink a lavender tea and hopefully get a few hours of sleep; Erestor had other plans though - too many plans. The advisor was in a state that he had not been in for years. There was no way possible that they could hold the council on the morrow in the hall as he had originally planned, the cooks and servers were threatening him with kinslaying if he dared to try to change the meal times for one single meeting. He was still not comfortable with the accommodations they had prepared for the four Hobbits, though none of them seemed to be complaining as long as there was food available. That was another thing, Erestor had a terrible feeling that if these Halflings were around much longer there would not be a crumb of anything remotely edible in the valley. More than that, he was certain that the smell of pipeweed would never wash out of the guest linens.

Now Elrond was standing on the balcony, clutching the rail as he tried to shut out Erestor's tirade enough to compose himself. Something caught Elrond's attention in the distance and suddenly he turned back to Erestor and, clutching Erestor's shoulders now, he said, "do not worry about tomorrow, just now i need you to prepare two more rooms."

Erestor just stood still for a moment, trying to determine whether or not he'd actually heard what he thought he did. "Two rooms! You want me to prepare two more rooms, now? This entire house is filled with "people" from every race imaginable. I think i put up two Ents and an orc three nights ago. No, wait, that was not an orc, it was Estel in his foul temper. Who could possibly show up here at this hour when we are going to hold this gods-forsaken council on the morrow, and more over there are not two rooms left to prepare. One, i could manage."

"Two, Erestor," Elrond said calmly.

"Elrond, the only habitable rooms left are what was your wife's sewing room -"

"I know, Erestor, but it will do for tonight. Cel' would not mind, i am sure."

"Well, there is someone in this house who will mind if i prepare the other room. You know that Estel would not allow it, that space is nearly sacred to him," Erestor said, speaking of the rooms adjoining Estel's that had belonged to Faramir and had not been touched for 15 years.

"Erestor, i can not brook any arguments about this, just prepare them both. Let Estel sleep, i really do not think he will mind so much come morning."

Erestor sighed, though it sounded more like a growl. "Fine, Elrond, but i shall expect some manner of compensation. This is nearly worth more than my while."

Elrond just smiled and said, "naturally, meldir." Erestor had been insisting that the entire valley was more than worth his while for the last hundred years. It had only gotten worse in the last few years, as more and more Elves left to the West and Erestor acquired more duties that others had once held. Elrond brewed himself that lavender tea he'd been, literally, aching more, and went to sit out on the front porch and wait for the arrivals.

ooo

_steelelf: Oh, dear, you say? Well, we shall see :)_

_Elenhin: Your words are always too kind to me. As always, i am just glad that you have been enjoying as a spin this tale. It is that that makes me want to keep writing. I think the next chapter will be filled with lots of interesting revelations. I am debating whether or not i should attempt to "recreate" the Council, that could be exhausting._

_linda: Faramir does seem to be a good influence on Boromir, but what lies ahead remains to be seen._

_The Last Hope: I am glad to hear from you again. And glad you are worried about Boromir, it is worrisome, though as i said to linda, it yet remains to be seen what shall happen in forming the Fellowship. That should be covered in the next chapter though._


	38. There's No Place Like Home

After what seemed like hours of walking through a woodland, finally Boromir and Faramir emerged in a deep valley. Over across the way, up on a level, could be seen a large house with candlelight in the windows. Faramir stood there still in the middle of the bridge taking it in. How, he asked himself, did he ever bring himself to leave, or to stay away so long?

"Faramir?" Boromir said, coming trudging along behind. "Please tell me this is where we get the foods and beds and hot water."

For a while Faramir said nothing and it seemed that he did not hear Boromir's words at all, for when he spoke he said, "Fifteen years ago i left here. Fifteen years. It is more beautiful now than ever."

Boromir groaned. "I thought you said this was Imladris, not your home. Please, just tell me we can rest here for another week before we carry on to "Imladris" or wherever we are supposed to be."

Faramir's laugh was light, though, and his smile full. "This is Imladris, Boromir, and also my home. I lived here for 20 years."

Boromir looked very tired and now also very confused. "You... what? How did you... but, why -?"

Faramir took a steadying hold on his brother's arm before he toppled from the bridge and into the river. "Come on, Bor', let's just rest tonight. I will explain everything come... -" Faramir's words trailed off though when he turned and saw that someone was up on the front porch, someone whose very silhouette was tall and regal and dignified and exuded wisdom. Faramir ran full pelt up the stairs and across the courtyard, all but launching himself into his grandfather's arms. Neither said a word, it was not necessary. Faramir wept and knew that, no matter what, he was home.

After a moment, Boromir finally caught up, saying, "what in the name of -" Boromir stopped, suddenly noticing another person and knowing that this other was no mere butler or servant of this house. No, this was someone very important, that much Boromir knew, and he nearly felt compelled to kneel, or at least bow, to whoever it was.

Elrond, hand still on Faramir's shoulder, extended an arm to Boromir, saying, "Welcome to Imladris, Boromir of Gondor. I am Elrond."

Boromir just stood there, protocol failing him for what may have been the first time in his life.

Elrond put forth his best effort to smile warmly to the newcomer but after so many years of nearly perpetually wearing the opposite expression, it did not come very naturally. And yet, Faramir seemed able to change that just with his presence. "Please, come in," Elrond said. "You will find everything in the rooms prepared for you. A council is to convene tomorrow, after breakfast. I would have you two rest tonight and attend with us." Elrond now looked at Faramir, reading something within him as was Elrond's way at times. He nodded at whatever information he found and again hugged his grandson, whispering, "you do not know how you have been missed here."

Boromir found this slightly strange, but considering the newly learned fact that Faramir had lived here most of his life, he guessed he'd just endeared himself to this lord in that time.

"Come, I will lead you to your chambers, Boromir, as they are not far from my own. I trust you have not forgotten your way, daerion-nín?" Elrond said to Faramir, and Faramir could not tell if that was a twinkle in his grandfather's eye or a tear.

Boromir followed Elrond with wide, if not tired, eyes. This place was like no other he'd ever known and it was not quite what he expected. Anything he'd ever heard about Elves involved living in trees, out in the open and suchlike, but this place was fashioned more as a home of men, and yet not. It was almost as though it had risen up out of the earth to serve the needs of it's inhabitants, rather than it's residents modifying their needs to live there. It perplexed Boromir, though he could not deny that it was inviting. Elrond showed him the bath that had been drawn, pointed out that there was food on the table and wine, and invited him to join them at breakfast the next day before the council began.

Boromir thanked him and executed that bow he'd been wondering if it was appropriate to offer.

Elrond smiled and said, "you are welcome." His eyes caught Boromir's for a passing moment and he read much there. This man was not like his father who had stormed in 35 years ago, yet Elrond feared that, if in the wrong situation, this man, too, could become bitter and greedy and... dangerous.

Faramir had rather hoped to have some time to just rest before heading into whatever council he was called to, but just being home seemed to renew him to his very heart. He parted from his grandfather and Boromir at the top of the steps and headed to his own chambers, eager for a hot bath, some real food, and to curl up in his own bed and sleep. He rather hoped he would be awake by the time of the council, he did not think it impossible that he might sleep for days on end. When Faramir walked quietly into his chambers and saw the candles lit and fresh fruits and bread and a flask of wine on the table he could have wept. When Erestor emerged from the bathing chamber he did weep.

Erestor just finished preparing a hot bath for whoever was to use Faramir's chambers, though he did not feel right doing it. These rooms had not been touched since the boy left 15 years ago, mostly because Estel could not bear it. He heard someone walking into the room, sighed deeply, and straightened himself to greet the newcomer. Erestor's nerves were well worn and he hoped dearly that whoever this arrival was came at least close to his height, he could not deal with one more Dwarf or Halfling if his life depended on it. "Welcome to Imlad-," he started to say, walking out into the main chambers, but stopped short when the young man turned and there stood Estel's son.

It was rare that anything ever surprised Erestor, but when it did it was almost humorous. Faramir would have been shedding tears of laughter if they weren't already tears of joy. Hugging his former "apprentice" Erestor said, "if Elrond had but told me it was you coming…! I did not want to prepare this room for a guest because no one has been in here since you left. Valar, child, you are so grown... a beard already?"

Faramir laughed and said to Erestor, "they are the fashion in Gondor. There the men like to look aged. I can not tell you how good it is to be home. I have shed tears for this place, for everyone here, since not a month after I left."

"Then you should weep no more. Enjoy a bath and a meal and sleep. We are to have a council here after breakfast and just now I must rush if everything is to be arranged and rearranged again before sunrise. Welcome home, Faramir!" Erestor said before hurrying away to be about some task or other.

Faramir smiled of the reassurance that, here in Imladris at least, some thing never change. That night he slept wholly and soundly and in total comfort. When the sun rose in the morning, it's golden light filtering through the sheers, Faramir stretched like a cat, basking in the warmth. He felt as though he could just lay there all day. After a moment, though, he rose and went to the window. Autumn had always been his favorite season in Imladris and the valley was truly stunning this morning.

Faramir was about to turn and head down to breakfast when he noticed someone out on the balcony which ran the length of that side of the house and overlooked the river. For a moment, Faramir was too choked to do anything but stand and watch. Seated on the balcony was his father, idly looking at the pages of an open book as though reading, but clearly not concentrating on it.

At length, Aragorn closed the book and set it aside. He stood and looked out over the valley, following the Bruinen with his eyes as if to see what was out beyond the valley. Aragorn looked to be weary and burdened and, more than anything, sad. He turned to go back inside and Faramir hesitated for a moment. He was not really sure how he would be received, after all, he had abandoned this man who had loved him and taken only the best care of him and for years Faramir had been feeling the guilt of his selfish actions. He loved his father though and missed him more than anything upon Arda.

Aragorn paused for a moment before going inside, gripping his right shoulder. Faramir took the moment of distraction to quietly step out onto the balcony and place a hand on his father's shoulder, rubbing gently. "Your sword arm always did bother you in the chill," Faramir said, wondering that he could manage words at all.

Aragorn's breath caught, his pulse speed up as he slowly turned, shock written in his deep grey eyes. The tears welled up as he searched Faramir's face almost questioningly and touched his face to see if it was really his son standing there and not just another deceiving dream. Aragorn could speak no words as he about seized his son in his arms in a hug so tight it could have crushed the both of them.

The ache of so many years rose up in them both as tears spilled relentlessly. But the healing power of tears soon took its effect and had both of them smiling; they both now knew for certain that they were truly home and that, while in this place, together, everything would be all right again. There were so many words that they both wanted to say, so much they wanted to talk of, but, as like as father and son are to one another, the only thing either could say, simultaneously, was, "I am sorry I hurt you." Laughing, they embraced again.

"You did not hurt me, father," Faramir said. "I was rash and fearful of the future. I never should have run though, I know that now."

"I should have done things differently as well, but it was not you who hurt me, either. I did that to myself," Aragorn said. "You can not know how I have missed you and worried about you. Almost every day I thought that I would never see my little boy again." Aragorn ran a hand over Faramir's beard. "I guess that little boy has grown into a man."

"There were a few close calls," Faramir said, leaning into the affectionate touch. "I might not have made it to a bearded age but for my father's skilled teachings." Faramir reached up and tugged on a lock of his father's hair that had fallen forward. Both of them fell into each other's arms, laughing and weeping all at once.

ooo

_steelelf: Council is coming up next, should be interesting._

_blanko: Leaving you hanging is my clever trick to get you excited about the next chapter (as well as the fact that that was all i wrote that night before i got too tired and decided that it was a good place to end.) I think i can promise twins next chapter. Glad you are enjoying._

_The Last Hope: Boromir is definitely out of the loop at the moment, but things will be cleared up next chapter, for better or worse, i shall not say._

_linda: I am not entirely sure how Fara' has been quiet on his heritage thus far. I do not think he exactly wants to be, but he knows well enough to know that he has to guard that secret with his life. I seem to be giving Faramir a lot of chances that he never had before too though._

_Elenhin: I am still in a bit of debate not so much over the council itself, but rather in the selection of the Nine Walkers. I can tell you that i am going to be following closer to the book than the movie as far as Council and selection process being two different things, but i have a good reason for doing that :)_

_AM: Good old Erestor never gets a moment to himself. Let's just hope overworking doesn't make him snap and take the Ring for himself or something!_

_estelle: Wow! I wish i had your energy! After being out till past midnight for the 4th, i am still trying to recover and get back into my sleeping patterns. Anyway, more explanations about the brothers are forthcoming. _

_Lirenel: I rather like this one better than all my previous ones as well, i guess that moves i am progressing. I know i hate it when i am reading something and go to hit the next button and there isn't one, so i hope this was a speedy enough update :)_


	39. Family Reunion

Once Aragorn managed to dry his eyes even just slightly, he put an arm about his son's shoulder and said, "i think we had best both get some breakfast, lest there not be a crumb in the house by the time we get there. We have so much to talk of, you and i, my son."

"I wasn't gone a month before i realized what i'd done and wanted to turn back, adar," Faramir said, still trying to apologize or at least explain.

"Everything happens for a reason, Faramir," Aragorn said in compassion. "Your leaving was in no way different from mine, and though i missed you more than anything, i did understand. But come, there is much to reckon with this day. I have a feeling that the fate of many will be decided soon. It looks as though the Rangers have returned and will need a bit of polishing, though i doubt many here are surprised by my appearance any longer."

"What is going on here? I had a dream that spoke of the shards of Narsil and Isildur's Bane, which seems to suggest," Faramir lowered his voice to a guarded whisper, "the Ring."

Aragorn again began to look grim and hesitant and Faramir wished he had not brought up the subject just then. "I think all questions will be answered at this afternoon's council. Provided we can get through it, that is. I do not hold much hope and i wish that adar had not called on so many. But, you know his way, to be fair to all involved. Unfortunately, i fear that most involved will not have a clear understanding of this thing. Still, that is yet to come. Let's see if we can surprise adar and Erestor and look presentable today, what say you?" Aragorn said with that wry tone in his voice that always made Faramir smile. It was incredibly good to be home again.

Father and son met up again in the hallway outside their chambers once they were both more appropriately robed. Faramir was amazed that his formal cotehardie from 15 years ago were still as well fitted as before he left, though he was glad since he had nothing else to wear but the clothes that were on his back when he and Boromir arrived. Just as Faramir remembered that his brother was here as well and might not know where to find breakfast, Boromir came wandering around the corner hoping to find his little brother.

"Fara', thank the gods I found you," relief truly evident in his voice. "I have been wandering around up here for at least a half an hour. I can not even find the staircase. Everything here is hidden."

"Boromir, come with us, we are just going to breakfast. This is my father," Faramir said. "Adar, Boromir has been like a brother to me since I arrived in Minas Tirith 15 years ago." The hint in Faramir's voice told Aragorn that he knew that Boromir was more than just like a brother, but it also told him that Boromir was not aware of that yet, which removed Aragorn's concern that his son had perhaps said a bit too much about his family's line. He needn't have worried.

Boromir nodded and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Faramir has spoken so much of you and always in the most glowing of terms. If it was you who taught your son sword work or bowmanship I stand in awe."

Aragorn laughed. "Well, I did have a hand in helping him with the bow, but one much more qualified than I trained him how to wield a blade. I take it that means that training has served well?"

"More than you know, he has saved me on numerous occasions," Boromir said, a hand on Faramir's shoulder.

"As usual, Boromir exaggerates, ada. He has saved me, too, more than once," Faramir said, always one to make sure that credit was given where due.

"Faramir, if not for you, I would most assuredly not be here right now. My body would have floated out to sea on that river when the bridge gave in," Boromir said in all seriousness.

"What bridge?" Aragorn asked, suddenly all ears.

"The "ford" at Tharbad," Boromir said. "Faramir had already crossed before me but as I was going over the remains of the bridge crumbled all at once under my horse. Fara' came back over to help me but the horse was lost. Then his horse walked back toward us and his weight sent what was left into the river, horse and all. We only just made it back to the shore in a leap. We lost everything we were carrying though, except for a single pack that your son apparently had the foresight to carry on him. It was altogether strange, as though someone wanted to deter us."

"Then you originally planned to go north from there and take the East road in?" Aragorn asked. "Then I have to say that that set back was your greatest fortune. I would not doubt that someone intervened on your behalf and changed your route."

"How can that be?" Boromir said, wondering if this man was entirely out of his mind. They had just spent months climbing about in the worst kind of terrain he'd ever encountered and this man thought they were fortunate? Of course, Faramir didn't seem too upset at the time either and Boromir figured Rangers had a strange idea of what good fortune was anyway.

"When did you two start out from Gondor?" Aragorn asked.

"In early July," Faramir answered. "We reached Tharbad about three weeks afterward."

"Had you gone north after crossing at Tharbad that would have likely put you on the East road in September. That entire area was crawling with Nazgû l at that time," Aragorn said gravely.

"Nazgû l?" Boromir swallowed nervously. "This far north and west? It is not possible!"

"I assure you it is, Lord Boromir. However, I would prefer to leave talk of such things behind, at least until later."

"I would prefer to leave as much as thoughts of such things, permanently," Boromir said.

"So would we all," Faramir said. "The only thought I am really interested in at the moment, however, is breakfast. If you gentlemen wish to accompany me, I would advise making haste."

When Faramir entered the dining hall, he stopped in his tracks. For one thing, he'd never seen the hall so full before. For another, there were all manner of folk here, Dwarves and Halflings included. Faramir was amazed that there were really Dwarves in Imladris, though he'd often heard of the party who came through Rivendell when his father was a lad.

Over at the main table two matching Elves were in conversation, when one glanced up at the sound of Mortal footsteps. The twin glanced back at his brother and whispered something, then both rose and walked away from the table, stalking toward Faramir, rather menacingly, it appeared to Faramir. He had only ever seen that severe expression on them while they were hunting orc and they looked like they were really livid, moreover, they were glaring directly at him. Faramir took a deep breath; he'd wondered how long it would be before someone was really angry that he'd dared to come back after his sudden departure years ago.

"You think you can just leave in the middle of night," Elladan said through clenched teeth, "leave us, your poor father, to be worried _sick_ about you for 15 solid years, and all without so much as a '_mae baro_'?"

"Is such the thanks you give to those who not just raised you, but loved you and taught you and protected you?" Elrohir said. "And you expect us to welcome you home with open arms and tears of joy, do you not?"

Faramir stood stoic, though, he knew they had a just right to feel that way and he deserved to be told so. "I do not expect -"

The twins expressions took on a maniacal look and Elrohir said, "good… he does not expect," with a malicious snicker.

"Get him!" Elladan cried and before Faramir run two identical Elves had him tackled to the ground and were tickling him mercilessly.

Boromir looked terribly concerned for his little brother but Aragorn was in nearly hysterical laughter. Elrond's forehead was resting in his hand, leave it to his eldest two to make such a spectacle on this day of all days. He only hoped that they would get this out of their system now before he had to deal with the council. His headache had done nothing to abate, if anything it was getting worse, and he was in a truly terrible mood today. Erestor was staring at them in reproach but Glorfindel found it as hilarious as Estel. Clearly, only a slayer of Balrogs could come to poor Faramir's rescue. Taking the hand that was reaching up desperately for help, Glorfindel pulled Faramir to his feet and directly into a hug. Boromir definitely thought this was the weirdest place he'd ever been in, the poor man was growing more and more confused at every turn.

ooo

_Ok, i know i promised a council in this chapter, but i wanted to get all the reunions taken care of first. I do promise the council will be next._

_Elenhin: Poor Bor' is still no less confused. I think he will feel a bit more enlightened next chapter though. _

_AM:) I guess on dragging this out, i know. I like to build suspense. _

_blanko: Ask and you shall receive, twins - just for you :)_

_estelle: I'm glad i've done well enough to get your reviews. They mean a lot to a little scribe like me. _

_linda: I suppose Faramir has gotten away with a good deal, but hey, like father, like son. Both seem to be good at getting out of trouble, though the twins still know how to give them a little scare._

_The Last Hope: I hope that letting Boromir in on things will be good, too, but it is precarious territory. I don't think he will know the full extent of the family line anyway, at least not concerning his father and Fara's father. But then, i make no promises, only predictions._


	40. Many Counsels Taken

There was so much conversation around and about him all through breakfast, people coming up to his little brother and welcoming him home mostly, as well as conversations with those he'd already been welcomed by, that Boromir was really unable to get a word in edgewise. He had a number of questions, that much was sure, and with every person who suddenly appeared out of nowhere with a hand on Faramir's shoulder, his questions grew. He really never could have dreamed that Faramir grew up amongst these folk in this place. It was almost too much for Boromir, and strangely, he rather missed everyone in his own part of the world who knew exactly who he was and at least gave him the time of day. Here, Boromir rather doubted these people even knew who the Steward of Gondor was. He could not have been more wrong.

At one point as Faramir was talking to the blond Elf who pulled him out from under the twin Elves, he turned to Boromir and said, "I've really been waiting to introduce the two of you. Boromir, this is Glorfindel, he is the one who taught me how to wield a sword."

Boromir caught himself just before actually saying, "you learned from an Elf?" There wasn't much else he could think to say for a moment, but that name was vaguely familiar to him. Boromir searched his memory of the songs his mumma used to sing when he was a child, always was she singing of some great historical persons. It was not coming to him, but because Boromir had always been in awe of Faramir's abilities he was not above asking. "A pleasure to meet such a truly fine instructor, I have never seen anyone handle a sword the way Faramir does. I have heard the name, sir, but I can not place where."

Faramir caught the incredibly smug expression on Erestor's face that replaced the one of weariness and agitation when he overheard Boromir's comment. "At last," Erestor thought, "the person who does not know Glorfindel of Gondolin as well as he knows himself."

Glorfindel himself was rather surprised and thought that perhaps the long journey in had just made the poor man too tired to remember even the greatness of the Balrog fight. "Gondolin, Glorfindel said, by way of a hint.

"No, _Gondor_," Boromir said, thinking he was correcting the Balrog-slayer. "Unless we were in Dol Amroth, mumma sang more of those old songs when we were there."

Glorfindel sighed inaudibly; this poor young soldier was confused. "First age," he tried, hoping to refresh Boromir's memory. Still, there was no clarity of insight in the man's eyes. "Balrog?" Glorfindel went on expectantly. Boromir just looked worried.

By this time even Erestor was tiring of this game. "Glorfindel is the exalted, reborn Balrog-slayer of Gondolin, Lord Boromir," he said, trying his best to sound pleasantly informative.

"That is my tale to tell, Erestor, I am the one who lived through it," Glorfindel said in indignation.

"Hardly! You are the one who _died_ through it," Erestor said, sharpening his tone and infusing his voice with considerable wryness.

Elrond sat by listening to this bickering only so long. He could not recall his stress level being this high even during the Last Alliance. His headache continued to throb mercilessly until the poor Elf-lord was near sick with the pain and he did not know whether to scream or weep. This was so uncharacteristic, he was having a hard time pinpointing just what it was that was pushing him so over the edge. It could have been that his half-Mortal side chose this particular moment to make itself known, and if it was, Elrond's pity for that race deepened. That, however, was not what Elrond suspected to be the root and cause. It was the Ring, he was almost certain. He dearly wanted to call off the planned council but knew too well that it needed to be dealt with immediately; this thing was bigger than his own tribulations. Rising from his place, Elrond said, "those who have been summoned, please gather in the courtyard when you hear the bell toll. Thank you." With that he briskly away, begging the Valar for just a bit of their mercy.

Erestor rose then too and throwing a glare at Glorfindel, hurried to follow Elrond. Boromir silently looked at his brother in question, but Faramir just shook his head with a light smile. "They have been like that ever since I can remember and many centuries before. You will get used to it; in fact, I'd feel strange if they were ever even slightly more than civil to one another." Faramir turned to his father seated across from him and leaned in. "Is daeradar all right? I have never seen him like this."

"Nor I," Aragorn said. "I do not think he has slept, in any manner, since we arrived a few days ago. He has to be exhausted after healing Frodo and I know that this council is going to be a trial for him. I do not think that any of us is accorded rest lately though." Faramir looked a little perplexed about the situation, but knew enough to let it go until later. Aragorn rose and said, "I will be back in time for the council, just now there is someone else I need to see. You might come as well, Fara', I know she will want to see you." Faramir wondered what his father could mean and decided to go along, bidding his big brother farewell until later.

Boromir looked almost abandoned just sitting there as others around him began to slowly leave the dining hall. There were precious few people he even recognized in this place as it was, though he'd seen the grey wizard who had been seated next to Elrond a few times in Minas Tirith. He hardly ever spoke to him, however, knowing that his father did not trust him.

"Perhaps we will have a chance to spar sometime, you and i?" Glorfindel said as he too was leaving.

"Aye, I hope that we shall," Boromir said, though if this Elf was better than Faramir it would likely be more humiliating than anything else. Had he met this Elf anywhere else he'd have had enough sense to decline the invitation. If it was true that he'd battled a "Balrog" (whatever that was, it sounded bad), Boromir shuddered to think what he could do to him.

Just as he was feeling totally left alone, a chipper young person came up to him and, with perfect, guileless candor, asked, "so, where are you from?"

At first Boromir thought him to be an Elfling, but he rather doubted that any Elf had feet like that. For a few moments he just looked in wonder at the outspoken little one. "I am from Gondor," he answered eventually. "Boromir of Gondor."

"Ah, well, Pippin of the Shire, in that case," the Hobbit said with a smile. "I thought you looked a bit left out, so I thought I might come and say hello, since there are so many different people here."

"Very kind of you, Master Pippin, thank you," Boromir said. "Are you, by any chance, a Halfling?" Boromir said almost cautiously.

"I'm a Hobbit, if that's what you mean," Pippin said. "Are you a Ranger?"

"No," Boromir replied, "I am a soldier in the Guard of Minas Tirith, Captain-General, actually, if such things matter here."

"Oh, that sounds important," Pippin said thoughtfully, or as thoughtfully as Pippin could manage.

"Aye, terribly important," Boromir said with a touch of sadness in his voice. Suddenly he started to feel what the real weight of leadership was, being around such an innocent, carefree person rather prompted Boromir to look at himself in comparison.

"Are you one of those who have been 'summoned?'" Pippin asked.

"I guess I am," Boromir said. "Only I am not sure how much longer it will be until we are called. I was just going to sit here and wait, as I guess this hall is also used for meetings. I do not really want to go out into the house again. I was lost this morning looking for the way to get downstairs."

"I know what you mean," Pippin said sympathetically. "I feel pretty small here, too. Well, I guess to you I am small, though at home I am considered rather tall. But then that isn't too surprising for Tooks anyway. Well, i don't know my way around here too well yet, but there is one thing we learned to find quickly enough. Merry and i, i mean, he's my cousin... well, Frodo is our cousin as well, sort of, though he's rather distant. Distantly related, i mean, not unfriendly. I don't think any of us are related to Sam though, not much leastways. But anyway, i was saying, we did find the way to the kitchen rather quickly, and i can show you if you like. I think we might have found the wine cellar, too. Not that we were nebbing around, mind, we were just rather bored waiting for Frodo to wake up, and as usual Sam was no fun at all."

Boromir was silent for a few moments, trying to process all that meandering information and rather expecting there to be more.

"So... shall we go?" Pippin said, after catching his breath.

Boromir shrugged and said, "why not?" For a bit they walked about in the underground areas of the Last Homely House where all of the extensive cooking facilities were, they then went back up to the gardens surrounding the house, rather sure that they could not get too lost there.

Boromir was rather enjoying being around someone who was so full of life. It was the sort of thing that one did not encounter very much in Minas Tirith and here in this Elven land all that Boromir had encountered so far was utter mystery. This little Hobbit, however, though slightly unusual, was not in the least mysterious or detached as these Elves seemed to be, nor wary and guarded as the Dwarves acted. This Hobbit seemed to be a wholly natural being, whereas the Elves, who would claim to be so as well, seemed more to Boromir to be in fact _super_natural.

At some length a loud, clear bell pealed in a tower above. Pippin jumped up faster than Boromir did and said, "well, farewell, have a nice time at your council." The little Hobbit sounded hurried and a little too innocent, but Boromir thought nothing of it really. He went back to the dining hall the way Pippin had shown him did found no one there. A passing Elf looked at him for a moment before asking if he was seeking Elrond's council.

Boromir, slightly bothered at what he considered a mildly obtuse question considering the fact that he thought it obvious he didn't live there, only nodded.

"Come with me, then," the Elf offered. "I believe we are meeting in the courtyard. I overheard Master Erestor earlier saying that the hall would not be available. I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

"Boromir of Gondor, pleasure to meet you," Boromir responded.

Legolas looked surprised and on the alert. "You know of me?"

"No," Boromir said simply.

Now Legolas looked curious. "Then how do you know it is a pleasure?"

Boromir shrugged at the Elf's strange reaction. "It is what is always said."

"Even though you do not know of me?" Legolas asked.

"Well, it is merely polite," Boromir said, finding it strange to have these notions he'd grown up not even questioning so dissected.

"Do Men always say things simply because it is considered gracious to do so, even if you do not mean what you say, or even know what you are saying?" Legolas asked with an odd little grin.

Boromir really had no answer for that. He supposed the Elf was probably right, but it rather annoyed him that he could not simply take a civility for what it was. Fortunately, he was saved from having to say anything as they arrived at the courtyard and Boromir found his little brother sitting with his father (though eager to dissect his idea of courtesy, Boromir had a feeling the Elf would likely expect a response from him, as a matter of politeness, naturally).

For a while there was some general talk, mostly in cliques divided by race: Elves spoke with Elves, avoiding Dwarves who spoke with Dwarves, and the Men spoke amongst themselves also. These lines were crossed only by the two Hobbits who were present, for they talked with Elves, Dwarves, and Men alike. Some Elves talked to Aragorn and Faramir, but obviously those who had known them for years. The blond Elf who had walked with Boromir also spoke at length with Faramir's father, though their conversation was in an Elvish tongue that Boromir did not understand.

At a break in the conversation, Boromir realized a breach of etiquette when it came to him that he never did get Faramir's father's name. "I truly have to apologize, but I am afraid I do not know -" Boromir began to say to Aragorn, but he got no further, as at that moment Elrond appeared and asked that everyone be seated. Boromir sighed, guessing that he would find out soon enough. Boromir was about to sit next to Faramir, but there was already an elderly Hobbit there. Sitting at the other side of the Hobbit, who greeted Boromir very genially, Boromir completed the circle and found himself again with the curious blond Elf.

Faramir felt that he should have introduced Boromir and Bilbo, but guessed that would be taken care of soon. He was relieved that Elrond was looking at least slightly better than he did at breakfast. Elrond indeed did take care of introductions, by way of pointing out to Frodo those he had not met. Yet, his daeradar had not mentioned everyone present and it seemed to Faramir that he may have purposely not spoken of his father just yet.

Introductions through, for the most part, news was formally exchanged. Boromir spoke of Gondor and the dream that he and his "brother" had, so used to calling Faramir his brother was he.

Glancing at his son and then to his father for a longer moment, Aragorn nodded almost imperceptibly and rose, bringing forth the Sword that was Broken, laying it upon the table, and saying to Boromir that more would be made clear to him here.

Boromir looked at the man who he knew only as his "little brother's" father, and finally finished the question he began earlier. "And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?" Why there was a less than friendly tone in his voice, Boromir could not explain. He bore this man no ill will and only wanted to know who he was, but he spoke in such an overconfident way, as if to declare himself better than this man.

Faramir had only heard that tone in his big brother's voice once before, just as they were setting out from Minas Tirith, Boromir seemed so unwell and had snapped at Faramir for being concerned about him. Something in Faramir's mind and heart told him that these reactions were not wholly his brother's.

Elrond answered Boromir's question, revealing the name of Aragorn and calling him "descended through many fathers from Isildur Elendil's son of Minas Ithil." As Boromir wore an expression of complete and utter shock, Gandalf decided it was time to tactfully move the conversation from Isildur's heir to Isildur's Bane, and he asked Frodo to bring forth the Ring, that Boromir might understand better the reason he and Faramir were called. It was Gandalf's intention to attempt to stay away from the subject of lineages entirely.

Faramir, watching Boromir closer than he was the Ring, noted clearly a glint in his brother's eyes that somehow washed over the shock that had been there. Faramir sighed, deeply troubled, and wondered why he was ever glad that Boromir had come with him this time. There was a warning in Faramir's heart that it would have been better had Boromir never laid eyes on the Ring. A quiet, wondering voice came from Boromir that did not seem to be truly his own as he questioned the doom of Minas Tirith and the broken sword. Aragorn, however, turned the topic back to Elendil, asking if it was Boromir's wish that what was left of the House of Elendil return to Gondor. Faramir closed his eyes then, knowing that whatever his brother's answer was would be very telling, for good or ill. It came to Faramir that he wondered just how much he really knew about the man he called brother for the last 15 years.

"I was not sent to beg any boon, but to seek only the meaning of a riddle," Boromir said, again speaking in that arrogant tone. This time, though, Boromir did know why he spoke thusly, and Faramir knew also that it was no outside influence. Boromir then added, speaking more like himself, that the Sword of Elendil would be a true help to his people, and he sounded hopeful for a moment of what could be and be restored. "If such a thing could indeed return out of the shadows of the past," he continued, sounding again doubtful. To Faramir, it was like seeing a child who'd had too many dreams crushed and no longer trusted hope, and it saddened him.

Others, however, were not so generous. The elderly Hobbit stood suddenly, and with every bit as much pride as Boromir had spoken with, he recited lines about gold which does glitter, roots and frost, ashes and fire, renewed blades and crownless kings. Then the little man went so far as to actually admonish Boromir for having to hear more than words of Elrond to understand the point and outright telling him that he'd best listen to it.

Aragorn, on the hand, just smiled. He understood Boromir's position likely more than anyone else in attendance, for he knew that Boromir was not only Denethor's son, but Finduilas's as well. Aragorn was able to forgive Boromir's misgivings, but also explained to him in plain terms that whether he considered him a rightful heir or not, the work of the Dúnedain Rangers was no less than that carried out in Gondor.

It was then Boromir's turn to wish to change the subject from heir to Ring, wanting more proof of the validity of the thing. It was altogether too much for him to try to consider at the moment, the possibility that this man was the long-since deemed mythological Heir of Isildur, rightful owner of the Crown of Eärnur. More than that, that Faramir was his son, the he'd called his little brother and had spent 15 years in the company of, was actually of this bloodline and could one day make a claim to the Throne of Gondor...

Boromir listened less than half-heartedly to the long-winded tale the aged Halfling presented to the council, he was still trying to get his mind around the fact that his little brother was someone no one believed existed. Nor did he listen much to the words of Gandalf. Only at the mention of his father did he again show any signs that he was not entirely deaf. After that, though, his thoughts drifted again and when his eyes were not on Faramir, trying to understand, they were on the Ring. The Wizard seemed to conjure some darkness to fall about the porch where they were seated and Boromir became pale.

Only now and again did Boromir speak at all, it being the way his father had taught him to behave in a council, to never let your voice be forgotten, no matter what you must inquire of or make statement on. Still, it was plain that Boromir was distracted for his comments were mostly general and only did he speak of whatever had been the last thing said.

When discussion began of what was to be the fate of the Ring, Boromir then did listen, intently, as if it was his own life on the line. When all that was proposed was either hiding eternally or destroy, Boromir seemed to grow anxious and spoke again of the glory and strength of Gondor and what could be achieved through using the Ring to their own ends. He was, however, gainsaid and told most clearly that no matter what one hoped to achieve through use of the Ring, that it would be twisted to evil in the end, such was the only true power of the One Ring. Boromir knew that his lot, for now, was tactful silence.

His thoughts wandered again for a while, though his mood was no longer so much wondering as brooding. The Council concluded with the decision that destruction of the Ring was the only possible course, and in a surprise, the younger Halfling who had borne the Ring to Imladris made the offer to be the one to bring this thing to it's end. Boromir sat for some while as others left the porch. He sat with a deeply thoughtful expression, eyes trained on the table where both the Ring and the hilt of the Sword of Elendil had sat before.

Faramir came up to Boromir and, resting a hand on his shoulder, said gently, "come, brother, let us eat together."

Boromir sat still for a moment or two, then raised only his eyes to meet Faramir's. His voice was low as he said, "i was not aware that secrets were kept between brothers." He rose then, and walked down from the porch and into the garden where he had walked with the Halfling early that day, before the world had changed right before his veryeyes.

ooo

_An extra, extra, extra long chapter tonight. I know this one has been long awaited, and i will try to get another chapter in this week yet, but after Friday evening, i can't promise much for at least the weekend, into mid-week perhaps. I don't anticipate doing much this weekend other than reading!_

_linda: I have come to see the value of responses, though i did not used to post them. The way i see it, i am so pleased that my readers/reviews have taken a moment to not just read, but also comment, i owe it to you guys to at least say thanks._

_Elenhin: I rather wish i was brave enough to confuse people upon first meeting them. It would be very interesting, though i am rather too reserved for that, unfortunately. I am not sure i don't confuse people anyway though, i can be full of surprises and even some contradictions. I've had people try to confuse me at first, but i just play along, living vicariously through their fun. But, yeah, that's the twins, doomed to never entirely grow up. _

_The Last Hope: Everyone loves the twins! They can liven up any scene._

_grumpy: Erestor may well have an orc or two put up in some room or other, and to have to deal with Elrond, Glorfindel, and the twins on top of all that... he really deserves a raise._

_blanko: You are most welcome! I would not say that i am the best, but thanks. _

_steelelf: I think slaying a Balrogmight be preferable to attempting to take on both Elladan and Elrohir, had they been seriously angry._

_Artemis: Welcome, glad to hear from you! I am glad you have sympathy for Elrond, he needs it. So too do others at the moment. eyes the pitchfork, wondering what use that might be put to..._


	41. Counsel After the Council

Faramir stood quietly; sad eyes watching his brother walk away from him. He'd known all along that this reaction was a possible risk involved in keeping his full identity secret. Yet, what choice did he have? Even though he trusted Boromir with his life, this secret was different; one accidental slip in a land so close to Mordor could be very dangerous, and not just for Faramir, but for all those around him as well. The way he saw it, it was simply best to say nothing to no one and to hold to that policy regardless of the personal consequences. If anyone was endangered because of who he was, it was not something that Faramir could live with. He only hoped that Boromir would cool down and be able to see it that way as well.

A warm hand rested on Faramir's shoulder, gently compressing the tension away. "I am sorry that went ill," Aragorn said quietly.

Faramir sighed. "I can not say it was wholly unexpected. What else could I do though? He would have been in terrible danger if he knew. I couldn't risk my brother, though perhaps I have anyway."

"There are none who do not live in risk in these days," Aragorn said. "I have not yet had a chance to tell you how truly sorry I am for the mistake I made before you left. I know you would say that it was not I who hurt you, nor was it you who hurt me, but when I say that I did that to myself, I mean that had I but made it clear to you the whole trouble could have been avoided. I am sorry that I did not tell you more of your mother, though possibly you know already."

"I think I have figured out that she was the Steward's wife, or at least that is what the clues seem to indicate," Faramir said.

Aragorn only nodded. "I should have told you of this many years ago, my son. I still fear to say it, though, if it is hurtful to you, or if you would think less of me."

"I think not," Faramir said sounding tired. "Did you love her?" he asked.

"For my part, no, not in the way you speak of. I thought very highly of her and considered her a friend. I do not believe that she loved me either, rather I saw in her eyes something that suggested that I reminded her of someone who she did love. In that I can understand her behavior, but I have yet to really understand mine. I do not know if I have really forgiven myself for it either, though Arwen holds me blameless. And yet that may make me feel all the more guilty. But I want you to know that I have never a day been ashamed of you. Because of you I have been truly the richest man in all of arda... and often the most worried as well," Aragorn said with a slight grin. "Had you ever the chance to meet her, Finduilas?"

Faramir shook his head. "From what Boromir has spoken of, she left Minas Tirith with him shortly after my birth and went back to her home in Dol Amroth. Boromir was raised there and saw his father only once in 15 years before he returned after his 20th birthday. From what I have gathered, though he has never said in so many words, his mumma died when he was about 10."

"Then she lived much longer than I would ever have thought. I am glad that she returned to the sea, she was too gentle a lady for Minas Tirith," Aragorn said. "Faramir, more than that, much more, what I should have made known to you was that I never intended to name you as my heir until you were of age. I would rather have died without an 'official' heir than to have put such a terrible burden on you. It was my intent to allow you to make the decision for yourself. I know you left because you feared that your decisions had been made for your, but I would never do such a thing to you. Ever since the first time I held you all I have ever wished for is your happiness. I know that you dreamed of living here and working beside Erestor for many days into the future. I would see you have that dream."

"I would as well, ada, but so much has changed. If all that was spoken of here today is so, there may be no future for us, let alone an Imladris. At any rate, I know that I can not make a decision about my title and status now. I never really thought I had any choice in the matter. I love you for giving me that choice, though."

"I love you for giving me all the experiences of fatherhood," Aragorn said, embracing his son. "I do not expect you to make any choices soon, I more than understand. When I made that decision I made Erestor promise that he would not record your name in any official documentation, not least of which the books of our lineage which he keeps under lock and key. I rather made that decision with the hope that I would, at some point in my life, have more than one son," Aragorn smiled slightly. "Why do you not go on inside and have something to eat? I will be in after some while; I think I need a walk just now though." Aragorn held up his pipe, taking a walk in Imladris was often code for "Elrond would have my head if I smoked near him."

Faramir laughed, understanding at once. "I will see you then," he said, heading in. He had taken after his daeradar and had no love for pipeweed.

Aragorn had no trouble at all finding his next quarry. Boromir sat alone in a secluded niche in the garden where moonflower vines intermingled with morning glories, each taking its turn on exhibit by day and night. Over the few moments he had been sitting there, Boromir felt his anger and the strange mood that had been over him fade away. He was left now wondering at some of his own thoughts and actions and not understanding why his little brother (could he still call him that?) trusted him with his life, but not with his _life_. He understood being hesitant to say at first, after all, he hadn't spoken of his lineage until he was sure that Faramir liked him for who he was in the first place. Friends were so hard to come by, Boromir knew, and so easy to lose. He was feeling truly alone and very, very far from home.

What had made him speak so strangely? Could it possibly have been the Elven trickery his father had warned him about? But no, for father said that they would try to dissuade him from the goals of Gondor, though they definitely did that as well. Boromir felt so entirely weary, something not usual in Imladris, and he questioned himself over and over. Laying his head atop his bent knee, he concluded that absolutely nothing had gone well since his father had shown him what was kept in the secret room in the White Tower.

His father... there was another source of doubt. Since returning to Minas Tirith nearly 20 years ago, Boromir had watched his proud father decline slowly. Where was the admirable and good-humored, if not busy and decorous, man he'd known before he and mumma moved to Dol Amroth? Who knew what happened to his father in the 15 years he'd been away? When he came home that day, his father had welcomed him with open arms and wept over him and continued to favor him as much as he did when he was but 5 years old. But he was different, changed, and he continued to change. He was not the same man, the soldier who Boromir had wanted to be.

He was now, to Boromir's eyes, a worn man, weary and aged before his time. Boromir wondered if it was more to do with the death of his grandfather or his mother that changed his father's behavior, but one thing that Boromir remembered bitterly about his mother's death was that there was not even a word of sorrow sent from Denethor. And still, Boromir respected his father, for he knew that the burden he bore was great and that he was truly mostly unaided in his efforts. He knew that his father was a good man who loved his land so dearly that he would give all of himself for her... the trouble was, how much was he willing to compromise to buy Gondor's safety?

Boromir was beginning to ask that same question of himself when he found that he was no longer alone. "It's been a long day, you should come inside and take some food and rest," Faramir's father, Aragorn, Isildur's heir said kindly.

"How do I know you are really him?" Boromir answered in an overwrought voice.

"You do not," Aragorn said. "Quite honestly, most times I do not either."

"Do you know how much Gondor needs her King now?" Boromir said, looking up into Aragorn's keen eyes. "Why are you here when you are needed now more than ever? The White City, beautiful and proud of old, is growing exhausted. If you are who they say you are, we could be new again, _you_ could renew us. The kings of old were _leaders_, a central figure that an entire _people_ could rally to."

Aragorn saw clearly what Boromir hoped for: someone who could truly lead them into victory against Mordor. Already he saw himself being put up on a pedestal, being made a shining example, a figure, as Boromir himself put it. He could just envision himself mounted and arrayed in finery and armor that made him gleam like a movable beacon of Gondor, shining at the head of the ranks, sword drawn, riding forward against the Black Gate of Sauron.

But he knew very well, even if others would not see it, that he was Mortal and but one single man without any extraordinary powers. He could see himself being trampled and flung aside like a weed by only the minions of the Dark Lord. He could be broken, too, and something in him just did not want to get up the hopes of an entire race over something so innately questionable and weak.

"I think we will have much time yet to discuss matters of a political nature. What I am come for at this moment is to do my part to set things right between you and my son - I know how much you mean to each other. I want to tell you something, Boromir. When my little boy left here 15 years ago, it was because he suddenly had a whole new world to deal with. I know, for I did the same thing myself when I was his age and learned who my father was. Boromir, you have always known that you are the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, imagine for a moment if you had never known it, if you had lived a common life growing up, and then were told one day that you are to next in line to inherit the highest current leadership of a land.

"I have worried about my child, my son, every single day from that day to this. But now i know that he had an honorable companion, someone he could count on who cared enough about him to go to lengths for his safety, i am much redeemed for my fears and anxieties. I would think you would understand this, Boromir. In a place so near to Mordor, the name of Isildur's heir is a byword for peril to any who should know of it. My brothers tell me that when my father was killed by orcs it was very plain that he was specifically targeted, but so too were his men. My son feared for your safety, should you know the whole story, for even if you kept the secret only in your heart, it is said that there are those who may read the hearts and minds of Men, and that is no more a myth than Hobbits are."

"What you say of that at least is true. Long has my father been known for that very ability. Perhaps it is that which will prove his downfall... i do not know. There were times when it seemed that he would station Faramir's Rangers in some specific place or other and nearly always was there a major attack within a week. Sometimes it seemed to me that he would put him in the line of dangerous purposely, but how could father actually know when and where an attack would be?"

Aragorn was very silent for some time, knowing that Denethor would not have missed who Faramir was and not doubting that he would put him at the fore of an attack. More than that, Aragorn had a pretty good idea how he would know where they would be hit. "Boromir, there is more that i think you should know of; however, you must swear to me that if you hold any culpable it will be me, not my son, for he is innocent of this."

Boromir looked cautiously at Aragorn for a while, but curious won out and he nodded, saying, "i swear it."

"Faramir never spoke of his mother, did he?" Aragorn said.

"Not really. He told me once that he never knew her, so i presume that she died in birth or shortly thereafter," Boromir replied.

Aragorn shook his head. "I am certain that the resemblance between you has not gone unnoticed."

Boromir was now outwardly glaring at Aragorn. "What mean you here? Speak! Tell me what it is you mean to say. You hardly have to, for i believe i guess your meaning."

"Gauging your reaction i would say that you do. I accept your blame, deserve it in fact. But you should know the facts -"

"I am no fool, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I know rather well how these matters work." Boromir's voice then grew low and heated. "And i will tell you this, if my mother were not dead and she told me that you harmed so much as a hair -"

"It was your father who did the harm," Aragorn said, rising to his own defense. "Now, i can and do accept your blame for my part in what happened, for allowing myself to allow it to happen, but i will not be falsely accused. It was not my fault that Denethor did not take care of her."

"My father may be an imprefect man, but never did he... i don't think..." Again, Boromir's fury began to lessen quickly. He had never really stopped to consider why they had gone to Dol Amroth all those years ago, or why he hadn't seen his father until he was 20, or even just why it was stipulated in his mother's testament that he should remain in Dol Amroth until he came of age. Boromir looked down at the earth about him. "I no longer am sure of anything anymore," he whispered. "Everything i know is wrong."

"Then you shall simply have to learn again," Aragorn said compassionately.

"Damned Rangers, always do you make everything sound so easy," Boromir grumbled.

"Well, when we are not fighting for our very lives, things do seem rather more easy to us, that is true." It was not Aragorn who said that though.

Boromir looked up and felt a bit guilty. There was no way he could deny it, especially not now, he really did consider Faramir his little brother, and apparently the feeling was more than just the voice of sentiment. He loved Faramir in the way that brothers do, as truest family, in a way that even devastating life-changes can not tear assunder.

"What is your verdict, then?" Faramir asked quietly. "For 15 years we have been nearly all the other had. If that has come to its ending, i should want to know it sooner than later."

Boromir rose and rested a hand on Faramir's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "No," he said sincerely, "this can not be ended by you or i."

"You know that i truly trust you with everything, Boromir. Only, i could not tell you of my line because of the danger it would put you in. Bor', even if i have had to lose you as a brother, i could bear that before i could seeing you tortured for information about the last of the heirs to Isildur's throne. It has happened before to others, and i... felt i had to protect you, at all costs."

"I would still fall defending you, little brother." It was funny how Faramir had a way of always making Boromir feel better about things, as if things could always be worked out with patience.

"And i you, big brother. But you had best never make good on that," Faramir said seriously.

Boromir laughed and embraced his brother tightly. "Just this once, little one, Boromir of Gondor will do his best to not fulfill his word to its _utmost_ end, at least i will try not to catch any _extra_ arrows just for fun."

ooo

_So i did manage to get another chap in this week. The next chapter will be the selection of the Fellowship. Is anyone taking bets?_

_linda: Have you noticed the pattern in the way the Ring affects Boromir? _

_Elenhin: I have most often been told to act my age as well, but meaning that i shouldn't act so much older than i am. I have had to learn how to grow down, though i think i am doing at least a little better. I was never terribly immature, even as a child, i was always the nervous one afraid of getting hurt or something. As a result, i've never had any major injuries, though. I can just imagine what could happen if the twins team up with Merry and Pip. And, yes, you should feel sorry for Boromir. He's having a very difficult time. It's saddening, but it seems that the finest blades are the easiest to break._

_steelelf: Those two seem to raise trouble at their very mention! _


	42. The Forming of the Fellowship

The day after the council, Elrond called upon several to meet with him in his study. He himself was looking much better, if not still rather weary. At least his headache had ceased for the time being. Elrond understood well that everyone present still needed rest, and more counsel was really the furthest thing from everyone's mind after the day before, but he also knew that getting things decided sooner than later was imperative. That way when rest was had there would be no lingering, nagging thoughts or questions that would interrupt one's rejuvenation.

Faramir, Aragorn, Boromir, Gandalf, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrond were gathered together after the mid-day mealtime. Though their meeting concerned the quest to destroy the Ring, it was decided that fewer needed to attend this meeting and, moreover, that some who were closely involved still needed rest. Three of those who would be walking were already decided upon, for neither Sam nor Gandalf would consider not going with Frodo.

Glorfindel readily stood for Frodo, citing that he'd already done a part of the duty in fending off the wraiths and would be happy to continue that work. Erestor, however, vehemently opposed that offer, literally pulling Glorfindel back down into his seat. "Still have me booked for the next five years? patrols, have you?" Glorfindel said with a certain bite in his tone.

"Yes, actually, I have," Erestor said matter-of-factly. It was a little odd that for as much as Erestor detested Glorfindel, evident by his constant threats to throw him off the top of the bell tower, he seemed quick to always have him scheduled safely within the borders of Imladris. Erestor was highly incensed that Glorfindel had been sent out amongst Ringwraiths after the Hobbit, saying that it had thrown off his careful scheduling for likely the next three months. It went without saying that Erestor was not going anywhere himself, he was there strictly in a counseling capacity.

Gazes turned then to Faramir and Aragorn. Faramir's own gaze was directed at his father, and Aragorn's, in turn, at the elaborate stonework of the study floor. Eventually he looked upward as if he'd been having second thoughts of a decision he had not shared as yet. His talk with Boromir the day before had brought him to think seriously about some things that he had been doing his all to ignore for months, if not years. "I think that the time has come at last," Aragorn said very quietly and all present knew what he meant. "Though," he added, sounding like he hoped someone would talk him out of his choice, "my personal quest and the quest of the Ring-bearer are not wholly the same."

"No," Elrond said, "but they shall be the same for some while. Once a crossroads is come to, not all could follow anyhow. Indeed, there shall be more than one quest bound up in this one. I must agree with Erestor that Glorfindel should not go," he said, though his seneschal's eyes flashed of annoyance. "The strength of this mission must rely on secrecy, not grandeur."

"If you go, I go, father," Faramir said with conviction.

"No, Faramir, that cannot be," Aragorn said gently. "I can not take such a risk as to have you follow me, too much danger lies ahead. I would have you stay here, you have done more than your duty already."

"I love this place more than any other upon Arda and I would also wish to remain here, but what sense is there is that, ada?" Faramir argued. "If all shall be overwhelmed because we were one man short? I would not be party to that that it was for my want."

"I agree with Estel, Faramir," Elrond said, now earning a flash of annoyance from his grandson. "You should not go together, for there is too much danger in that course. However, I do also agree with you that every good fighter is going to be needed. Should the quest be discovered, which is a strong possibility that must not be overlooked, an attack will come swiftly and with vengeance. Though it is not 'formal,' you are still your father's son and we can not be as convinced of our defenses as to have you both in the same place at the same time."

Boromir, who had sat in silence not unlike he did at the council the day before then spoke. "I too would follow Aragorn, for if I discern his meaning correctly, then our paths are one and the same. I mean to return to Minas Tirith, though I will readily offer what help I can to your Ring-bearer as long as our roads remain together.?"

"And what, then, I am meant to do? Sit here, locked up like a jewel, and wait for the fight to come to me? My father and brother would go to defend a kingdom while I am put by as an emergency backup?" Faramir said heatedly. "Yes, it was my dearest dream to remain here all of my days in this peace. But now I know what they mean when they refer to the Shadow, I can no longer allow myself to have such dreams, not until I have seen the end of that Shadow. What use would I be if the Shadow really did make it to Imladris? It would all be over by then anyhow."

Elrond sighed deeply. "We all of us had hoped, Faramir, that you would be agreeable to remaining here. It has been so long, and you would do well with the rest.?"

"Surely you know, daeradar, that none now have such a luxury. I have said that I would dearly wish to remain here, but as long as i am able-bodied, I must do something to help."

"I believe that Faramir is right," Gandalf said, leaning over to whisper to Elrond.

Boromir looked over at Faramir with something akin to admiration shining in his eyes. It was clear to him that though their thoughts on war differed, they were still on the same side for the same reasons. Boromir had laid awake the night before musing on this new learning that he and Faramir were more than just shield brothers. He supposed he sensed it all along, their blood connection, but mumma had been gone for so long, and...

Elrond spoke again. "We shall need to set up some safe contacts along the way. I can do this in part, though I no longer trust to the messages I might send forth, the days are much too perilous to count on such things. However, it seems to me that we may be in need of just as much assistance in realms that are accounted friendly, or at least which resist Sauron and, so I hear now, Saruman also, as we do. The prevalent road toward Mordor runs through the land of Ithilien. Faramir, I understand that you had command of a patrol there?"

"Aye, daerada," Faramir said, wondering what his grandfather was getting at.

Elrond nodded. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to return to that land under cover and thus move to aid Frodo through when... if he comes. The most important aspect, however, is that you arrive before anyone else and appear to have nothing to do with the quest."

"Are you mad!" Boromir blurted out. "After the way he left Gondor, you think he can just walk back into his position? If I am not there also, my father would have his -"

"Your father may well recall a promise that he made some years ago," Elrond said cryptically. "What say you, Faramir, can this be done?"

Faramir thought for a moment. "I can likely bypass the Steward and simply return to Ithilien to resume my duties. The Steward would not be aware of it for some while and my company had no reason to believe that I would not return to them."

"That is well," Elrond said thoughtfully. "We have five then. I was rather hoping for nine, a balance of sorts. More than that, I should like to have all free races represented as this concerns us all. Naturally we can not ask for two Istari, but two Men and two Hobbits we have already, dare I ask for two Elves and two Dwarves?"

"Not if you want this group to get anywhere intact," Erestor muttered. Even despite the fact that he had carefully arranged so that the visiting Naugrim would have rooms completely separate from Elves of the House, there had still been clashes. Outside Elrond's study it sounded as if there was another clash arising.

"No, _I_ am looking for Lord Elrond!" an Elf with a distinctly Mirkwoodian accent said in no soft tone.

"Not before me. I was here first!" countered a Dwarven voice.

"Ha! You are 1500 years too late to call yourself before me!" retorted the Elf. "Why do you not run along and play with your glittering things?"

"I would, but that your father has them all hoarded!" the Dwarf goaded.

"Do not speak of my father! It was your father who helped steal what was rightfully ours!" the Elf pressed on, now drawing a pair of fighting knives, against which was wielded an axe.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," Elrond said, interrupting a potential war. At once Legolas put his knives away, though Gimli still had a hold of his axe. "Young Gimli, you may recall that i assisted your father and Thorin's company in their mission," Elrond reminded tactfully. The Dwarf grunted and returned the axe to its holster. "Thank you."

"Master Elrond, i came to discuss joining this quest," Legolas said respectfully.

"No he didn't! I did!" Gimli jumped in.

Elrond could already feel his headache returning. "Please, come into my study. We happen to be discussing the very subject," he said with all the dignity he could manage. Just as Elrond was closing the door again, someone shouted for him to wait. Two small figures came speeding around the corner, all but crashing into Lord Elrond and the door.

"We want to join, too," Merry said. Pippin nodded, though he had not the slightest clue what this was really all about. Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam seemed to think this wouldn't be a fun adventure, but Pippin figured that as long as the four of them were going, it couldn't be too bad. At any rate, it couldn't really get worse than the trip in... could it?

"Oh, are we all going?" Pippin said, looking around at everyone who was gathered. There was Master Elrond, Gandalf, Strider, and the kind man from Gondor, Boromir. There also were several Elves, the big, blond one and the smaller dark-haired one who fought like an old married couple, and the quiet, woodland Elf who was often talking to Strider in a language Pippin didn't know. Then there was the younger Dwarf whom sort of unnerved Pippin, carrying several large axes around all the time and all. There was also another man there who Pippin didn't know. He couldn't decide if he must be Strider's son or Boromir's brother, though, perhaps all big folk looked alike. "Who are you, then?" Pip asked in his usual outspoken manner.

"I am Faramir, son of Aragorn," Faramir replied. Just then, he realized how truly freeing it felt to be finally able to acknowledge that fact.

"Ah, well, I figured it was that or his brother," Pippin said, gesturing toward Boromir.

"I am that as well," Faramir said with a proud smile.

"Oh…," Pippin said, looking a little perplexed. "Who's Aragorn, then?"

"Well," Elrond said, before things got too complicated. "If my arithmetic is correct, I do believe we have found our Nine. I shall ask you all together tomorrow once again. There will be much more yet to discuss. For now, I bid you all a very fine afternoon."

Those who were to be going with Frodo found themselves taking a deep breath. It was going to be a very interesting journey, that much was certain.

ooo

_Finally i can write again! I was so sad after finishing HP - 6 this weekend that i just couldn't write. But, it's ok, cause i did say that it might not be till mid-week, and here we are, mid-week!_

_AM: I usually like writing dialogue more than just telling you that something happened. Lot's of heart-to-hearts in my writing because i think such a thing is lacking in our world. People do not talk openly._

_steelelf: Don't kill? I can't say anything one way or the other yet. They haven't even started out yet,so..._

_Elenhin: I've built some neat sandcastles. One of my favorite techniques is to take a handful of watery sand and let it drip out of your closed hand, makes a cool "ruins" effect. Anyway, i'm supposed to go to Atlantic City in October. A bit late in the season for sun and swimming, but i can always play on the beach! A couple of years ago i was feeling particularly childish one winter day and made snow angels, but no snowmen. Anyway, Aragorn is definitely a good dad, and you really didn't think i could keep Boromir mad at his little brother for very long, did you?_

_linda: Ah... things are starting to become clearer now. Everything is starting to mean more than it did earlier._

_tracey: I did consider Boromir being surprised by how young Aragorn looked in relation to his son, only maybe 10 years old, if that. But then i thought that having a share of Numenorean blood himself he probably would not be all that shocked by it. I just decided to leave on a canonical basis, i guess the underlying thing is that, more or less, iwanted to show that Boromir is not on a level much lower than Aragorn or Faramir, that he and his father are still a very strong line, peers almost. As i said to steelelf, i can't say anything just yet. _

_Wow... only two appeals for Boromir's life? Hmm..._


	43. Ducklings

The next day's discussion focused on the timing of departures and preparations for the journey. Elrond suggested that parties be sent outward to scout before the journey of the Fellowship. Teams were assembled to make their surveys and return to Imladris to report to Elrond. Aragorn offered to take the course down the Greyflood toward Tharbad with his Rangers and search for any remnants of wraiths. It was mentioned that if Faramir was to return to Ithilien he should go with the Rangers when they left and continue on after they headed back to Rivendell.

Faramir agreed to that, though he found that it made him rather sad. He'd hoped to be able to spend some time at home again and now he was wishing that he had not been so keen the day before as to go volunteering himself for whatever mission lay ahead. All the rest of that day Faramir had been trying to fend off the effects of melancholia but it wasn't working. All the special little places he visited that had always cheered him up now acted only as reminders of bygone, happier days when he was but a naive child playing with his father.

As the sun was setting, Faramir was sitting on the riverbank on the big roots of trees that formed a little wooded grotto of sorts. It was a place for him to hide and be alone at times when solitude was therapeutic. Ever since he could remember, he had come here when he was feeling low and watched the ducks paddling about in the eddies. Faramir had always had a connection to avian life and his father had told him that when he was only several months old birds and butterflies amused him, thus why Glorfindel had carved those little wood figures that he still carried as talismans. As a child he even kept a pet duckling, Duck-duck, named by a child of not yet two who was just learning the language. Faramir was so dedicated that he cared for Duck-duck's line and watched them grow right up until the day he left Imladris.

After some while Faramir realized he was not alone. He turned slowly to find his grandfather standing beside one of the big river trees. "Do you mind a bit of company whose feet are _not_ webbed?" Elrond asked.

Faramir shook his head and watched as his grandfather stepped down onto the massive, tangled roots and sat down, in his robes and all. Faramir had been thinking that perhaps he himself was grown a bit too much for such balancing acts and had his doubts that Elrond could manage it after who knew how many year's worth of exclusively wearing robes and leaving his study so very rarely.

Elrond pointed to a duck that had been swimming nearby since Faramir sat down. "That grey one there," Elrond said, "that is Duck-duck's grandson. He hatched just this spring. In your absence I have made certain that his daerada's resting place is maintained and the little yellow flowers still grow there."

Faramir laughed reminiscently, but somehow there were still tears standing in his eyes. He'd been 13 when Duck-duck's long, happy days came to an end and it had broken his heart. "You can never go back, can you?" Faramir said in uneven voice.

"No, daerion-nín, one can not, except in one's heart," Elrond said.

Faramir leaned toward his grandfather and automatically an arm was wrapped around him. "Everything has changed so much. Why do I feel as though there can no longer be any dreams, any happy times ahead?"

"I, too, felt that when I was your age. Well, my father had sailed off for a chat with the Valar and nana had thrown herself from a cliff into the sea. Meanwhile, my brother and I were captives. I felt it again many times in my life, that desire to go back to carefree, secure days; I still feel it, even at my age. I, too, still need someone to hold me once in a while, too. Just remember, that which fails to grow and change does not live."

"I have missed your wisdom so much these last years," Faramir said. "I have missed more than I can tell you of. It was why I ran, you know, I wanted to get away from duty and responsibility. I thought that if it were to happen, it would be easier for me just to hurry up the process."

Elrond smiled sadly. "I know, Faramir, I know. It is always easier to inflict pain upon one's self than it is to stand by and allow someone else to do it."

"Will I ever find comfort again?" Faramir asked of his grandfather. "Even here, I may rest and am heartened, yes, but I must so soon be gone again, mayhap never to return."

"There are many trials ahead, my grandson, you know this. I must tell you that I have not been able to see anything in the time beyond and I do not know what that may mean. I truly do not believe that your departure from here will be the ending of anything, though. And I very much believe that you will have comfort again. Your dream was much as the same as mine, Faramir." Elrond's words, as ever, were rather cryptic, but Faramir understood and it was some while before they returned to the House that night.

It was then only a matter of days before Aragorn, Faramir, and the Rangers made to set out when all the other scouting parties did. Boromir asked to go along with them as well. Though he would not say it, his main reasons were that he was getting desperately bored (rest never did set very well with him), and he could not help but harbor suspicions about hanging around so many Elves considered the way his father spoke about such beings. However, more than anything, he wanted the chance to spend a little more time with his brother before they split up and went on with their own dangerous missions. Ever since learning that Faramir really was his brother, Boromir had a distressing feeling of impending doom, and he felt as though had he never learned the truth, things would be much better off.

The night before everyone was to set off, Elrond came to Faramir, asking him if he might not prefer to travel east with Elladan and Elrohir and get into Ithilien through the "back door", as it were. Naturally, Faramir said that as much as he loved his uncles, he felt he rather needed to go with his father and brother. Elrond had expected that, expected no less really, but felt that he needed at least to make the suggestion now that he knew the extent of Saruman's treason and the nature of the welcomes that the Horse-lords were doling out these days.

Elrond sighed deeply, why was it always this difficult to let a child go out on his own? "You will take care of yourself, Faramir? Do not forget what I said, I feel certain that Denethor will remember a promise that he made to me; remind him if you must. I am comforted that you did take my advice about which to offer your allegiance to, it shall serve you as it already has done. I know it seems that one can never go back, but sometimes, when conditions are just right, we can in fact do just that."

With his grandfather's ever-obscure advice, Faramir departed the next day, laden with supplies for his journey. At the outset, Halbarad and the Rangers going along were more than unhappy about the fact that Faramir was to go back into Ithilien and, moreover, that the Captain-General of Gondor would, essentially, be taking his place. It felt a lot like a slow and subtle take-over attempt from Minas Tirith and, despite Aragorn's assurances to the contrary, they were doubly on their guard around Gondorian lord. They were also wary of the fact that their leader's son seemed to be so close to Boromir, spending so much time in the South must have addled the poor boy's wits.

One night after Aragorn and Faramir had bedded down, sleeping back-to-back and yet still managing to snuggle into each other, Boromir kept watch by a small fire. Glancing toward the father and son he could not help the surge of jealousy he felt. He'd never had such a relationship with his father, the closest he came was his uncle, and though he was never resentful of them, there were other children, his cousins in that house as well.

Halbarad was not asleep either and noted the way Boromir stared at his captain. Deciding to take a more active approach, he rose and went to sit by the fire. Boromir greeted him genially enough, but then, these noblemen were trained in such ways. "I do not think your men have much love for me," Boromir said after a while in an attempt to break the ice.

"Perhaps they know more of your mission than meets the eye," was Halbarad's purposely-cautionary reply. Boromir chose to remain silent. He did not understand why these men were so suspicious around him. It wasn't as though he was up to anything, even the secret quest he had joined was something that he'd only offered a hand of protection in, and it wasn't as though Halbarad was in the dark of the purpose of that mission. The rest of the road down to Tharbad was little different. Neither Faramir nor Aragorn would brook any argument though, and so their kinsmen learned to keep their misgivings to themselves.

Once they reached the abandoned settlement, they camped for two days. Boromir still found it amazing that the ford have given out just when it did and forced him and Faramir to take a different road in, causing them to avoid the Nazgûl who were covering the road they'd been bound for. Perhaps someone really was watching out for them. Boromir only hoped that whoever it was would not turn their attention elsewhere too soon.

After the second day in camp they prepared to make the way north again and to report to Elrond while Faramir prepared to ride east alone. Every man was active in breaking camp, there was no such thing as a break because of rank to the Rangers. Still, things were not the same in Boromir's army and even as he worked to pull his own weight, it was not lost on him that the man who was supposed to be the leader was the one making all the mistakes. Aragorn was packing up horses with two and three medicinal kits when there was supposed to be one per rider, he would put a canteen on one saddle and add another one when he walked along the other side of the horse because he didn't see one hanging from that side. They were minor things to untrained eyes, but Boromir knew that such confusion could lead to complications on the road, and complications on the road had disaster written all over it. When Aragorn had spent no less than 10 minutes searching for the saddle that was on his horse's back, Boromir finally took pity and stopped him.

"You are not in the right mind to be doing this. All you are doing is wasting time, yours, his, and everyone else's," Boromir said boldly.

Aragorn stared at Boromir defiantly, who was in command here anyway? Boromir may be used to taking the lead, but… still, Aragorn knew he was right. He was actually more in the way than helpful at the moment. They both knew the risks involved, the same risks every man faced just for living in those days. "Go," Boromir said, a strong hand on Aragorn's shoulder, "I can manage things here for now."

Aragorn nodded and walked over to Faramir who was already standing a bit off, already distancing himself from his kin. "Need a hand?" Aragorn asked his son.

"Not really," Faramir said with a shrug, having gotten just about everything set. It was true, it was not a hand that Faramir needed most at the moment. He knew the odds were against them and everyone on their side. There was a very real possibility that he might never see his father again. After so many years of self-imposed exile from his father's love and comfort, it was hardly bearable to think on now.

"A walk then?" suggested Aragorn.

Faramir nodded. It was a matter of point that when they started speaking so few words there were also many important words going unsaid. Both Aragorn and Faramir understood the full weight of their parting and just what was looming in the future. They both understood the power of the Ring and knew what would happen if the quest failed. What would happen if the quest was successful… they also were fairly aware of what possibilities that could bring about and not all of them were joyful.

Walking off into a wooded grove, Aragorn turned to look at his son. "It is as though those first 20 years were all we were destined to have."

Faramir closed his eyes tightly and his breath caught at that statement. "Do not say such a thing, father. I would sooner not face that possibility. Even if one of us should…."

"Faramir, I want you to swear that you shall -"

"Take care of myself?" Faramir finished. "I can not do that, adar-nín."

"For what reason?" Aragorn asked a bit concerned.

"I have already sworn that oath to someone else - someone who, very honestly, has more power than you do." Faramir said with the slightest trace of a smile. "Are you really going to do it?"

"Well, I've been wandering around, no good to anyone for a good while now. I guess I might as well go into retirement and let people gawk at me for the remainder of my years. It would give them something to do in that city at any rate."

"And what should you not get that far? Father, I utterly hate saying it, you can not know how the very thought tears me apart, but I must know what you would have me do." Faramir's voice sounded as though his throat was being ripped and Aragorn most assuredly knew how his child felt.

"I would have you do what is right for you, Faramir. You will likely have more difficulty making a claim than I, and I would not see you do it unless you are absolutely certain that you wish it." Aragorn took a deep shuddering breath. "Faramir, I want you to know how much I love you, how proud I am of you…. If something should happen to either of us, and you did not know…. Faramir, are you sure that you do not wish to remain? I… it's just, I do not have a good feeling. Something, I do not know, but something feels as though it will go wrong." Aragorn put his hands firmly on Faramir's shoulders, rather more to steady himself than his son. "Swear to me that you will not take risks? No kingdom would be worth losing you."

Faramir offered his father the same support he himself needed as father and son embraced. "I will swear, but with the condition that you swear the same. At least you will not be traveling entirely alone this time, but I beg you to watch out. I cannot be without a father, and, after all, you did say that you did not wish for me to have to bear the burden of an inheritance."

"What is this?" Aragorn said, combing his fingers through his son's hair. "I think there are still some downy feathers left on my little duckling."

"Quack," Faramir said utterly deadpan as he reached up and tugged on a lock of his father's hair.

ooo

_I know this chapter is mostly fluff, but i couldn't help some of the cute stuff. I promise we will get on with the action next chapter._

_linda: I still have that plot bunny you gave me. I've been feeding it a steady diet, so hopefully when i get some space cleared in my mind i will be able to work on that. _

_The Last Hope: Ah, vacation... i vaguely recollect that concept. Something to do with going away for a while and not working? Perhaps i had one of those in a previous life. Anyway, i can imagine it was fun to come home to lots of updates, i know i enjoy that immensely myself. Don't feel too bad, i was miserable, just miserable, for days after i finished HP 6 on Sunday. My mum only just finished it today and called me at work in tears. It almost made me start crying all over again! I truly don't think one can call them "children's" books anymore though. Who would have thought of a series that grows realistically? I'm already so worried for poor Harry next book._

_C: No, it's not a very little change, is it:) Who knows what iwill do?_

_Elenhin: Of course i don't want to break Faramir's heart... again. Not that i haven't before, but i did go into this story trying to see if i couldn't write something in which Faramir actually gets to experience some degree of happiness. Well, it's like i said, time shall tell. _

_steelelf: I do have more than three now, fortunately for Boromir... maybe. Oh, say, was that a double vote? Not wholly sure those are allowed... :)_

_irene: Thank you kindly, though i am sure i could find things to fix up, if had a bit more time for proper editing. Boromir also thanks you for your vote concerning the matter of his life._

_AM: Another appeal, good. Still, not yet reached 10. All in all, i never said votes would sway me, much, but it is interesting at the least. Elrond should have some tea? What manner of tea? It does make a lot of difference. I personally recommend a very nice herbal tea from Harney & Sons. It's a blend of chamomile, lavender, and cornflowers._


	44. The Shadow Lengthens

Faramir had parted from his father, half-brother, and the Rangers of the Dúnedain one week previously. In his brother's keeping, he left his bracers and insisted that they be worn. From the first time they had practiced together, Faramir never relented in chiding Boromir whenever he neglected that vital piece of armament. Boromir had started to insist that Faramir promise to watch after himself but Faramir flatly refused to make that promise to one more person. He was more than capable of looking out for himself, and he was also determined to get a promise out of someone else this time around. So it was that Boromir swore to him that he would not only take care of himself on the quest, but his father also, for Faramir knew all too well the kind of risks his father usually took.

From there the parting had been quick; all involved knew that drawn out partings helped no one. Boromir very nearly promised his little brother that they would all see each other once again, but he knew that soldier's did not make promises so far beyond their abilities. Aragorn, too, hoped for it, but his years in the world had taught him not to voice those things.

It had been strange, but there was no difficulty in getting through Dunland, as opposed to so many times before. Onward Faramir rode with his father's advice to remain south of the River Isen and to stay close to the White Mountains. The advice was not meant so much to help Faramir pass through Rohan undetected, as it was to keep him at a distance from Isengard. By missing the ford, Faramir avoided walking right into a clash between Dunlendings and Rohirrim.

He managed to get almost to Edoras before a company spotted him and had him encircled immediately. Their captain was young, younger than Faramir was by the look of it. It seemed that the welcomes of Rohan were growing less and less friendly with every passing day. This time Faramir wondered just what it would take him to get on with his journey this time. Usually all one had to do was consent to be led before the King, give your word that you are allied with the Free peoples and you were permitted passage. This time, though, when Faramir saw the King of Rohan his shock could not be concealed. Something was extremely wrong in the Mark in these days and Faramir wanted to be gone as quickly as possible.

The foul wretch who Faramir had described as a fell shadow on the King during his last visit ordered him held for questioning. Faramir knew better than to resist and was lead to a sparsely furnished "room" which looked more like a dressed prison cell. The door had not been locked, but there were guards posted at either end of the hallway, and windows were high and small. It was what passed for hospitality. Still, Faramir knew that he had no reason to attempt escape, for he was on the right side and had but one thing to hide, though surely that would not come into the questioning? At any rate, Faramir figured he could do with a bit of rest.

Faramir extinguished the lone tallow candle and was attempting to let himself get some rest, grateful that at least he did not have to sleep with one eye open this one night. It did not bother him much that apparently no one thought to feed him, he recognized that he was a latecomer and really had no expectations anyway. He'd gone nights without a supper before and would likely do it again.

He was staring up into the darkness, thinking about his father and Boromir, his daerada and the twins, when he heard footsteps out in the hallway. A woman carrying a bowl in one hand and a candle in the other nudged the door open. "I brought you supper," she said simply, setting the dish upon the small table and relighting the candle. As Faramir stood, the two flames illuminated him and the woman's cornflower blue gaze seemed to linger on his eyes for a few moments longer than necessary before she turned and hurried away.

Faramir called a "thank you" but she had already closed the door and gone. He looked out into the hallway to see her glancing back over her shoulder, wearing a worried and wary expression, as a child still afraid of what nightmarish creature lurks under the bed, and she hastily fled around the corner.

Unexpectedly, out of the shadows at the other end of the hallway, stepped the leech of a man, startling Faramir. "I do hope you managed to rest easy in your accommodations, my lord," Grima said sickeningly. "Your mount is saddled and your baggage loaded. Shall I escort you to the stables?"

Faramir refrained from saying something along the line that the stable boys would not appreciate more filth to clean. He had a suspicion that it was this vile thing which caused the fearful look and hurried steps of the lady who had brought him food. "I thought it was you who ordered that I remain here until questioned?" Faramir asked, cautious of this sudden change.

Grima thrust a piece of parchment at Faramir and said, "Well, the _King_ has ordered you gone, _immediately_. And I would not try _his_ patience, were I you," he added in a threatening hiss. Faramir could not help but think that when Grima spoke of the King, he was really referring to himself. Still, he did not argue. Though he did not have any rest, or a chance to eat what had been given him, he simply picked up the pack he carried with him and got out of Meduseld. He checked the packs on his horse and noted that they were all there, though his food supply was diminished markedly. "A tariff for convey," Grima said with a smile that challenged Faramir to do something about it. Faramir knew better, as Grima suspected he would, and merely glared daggers into the man known better as a worm.

Faramir mounted and trotted out of the stable. Though it was darkest night, he trusted his horse and started off slowly, letting them both get their bearings. Suddenly, Faramir's keen, well-trained ears caught the sounds of a struggle from behind him. From within the stable he clearly heard a hissing whisper, the distinct sound of a slap, and a growl followed by a muffled shout. Faramir jumped down and ran back to the stable where he saw the worm attempting to corner a woman, the woman who had brought him food. Grima caught sight of Faramir, though, and ran out of the other end of the stables, back to the hall with more speed than it looked like he possessed, no doubt to argue that he had been in Meduseld the whole time and to accuse Faramir in his place. Torn between running after the lecher and helping the woman, Faramir's compassion won out and he went to the lady.

Her reaction was wholly unexpected though. Instead of a thank you, she slapped him as well. Faramir just stood there for a moment with his mouth gaping. "What was that for? I was trying to help -"

"Of course you were, because you thought that I could not defend myself! I do not need men like you protecting _me_," she said, giving him a rough shove.

"That snake had you cornered!" Faramir said, utterly flabbergasted.

"Get away from me!" she shouted. "I can fight for myself and unless you want to learn just what I can do with a blade, you had better leave, now!"

"Wait, I think I remember you. You were just a child, fighting with your brother?" Faramir said, remembering the first time he'd been in Edoras, or at least the first time he had memory of.

"I thought I said leave!" the woman said, now looking around for something she could use as a weapon.

"Oh, I would like nothing better," Faramir conceded, backing slowly away as not to upset the furious filly any further. Getting back to his own horse, he left Edoras with the hope that he would not be required to return any time soon.

Faramir got through the Eastfold, stopped only once by the same captain who had stopped him on the way in. He showed the order from the King and was let through. Faramir was grateful as never before when he crossed the Mering Stream into Gondor. For as dark as Gondor was growing these days, at least he was not immediately set upon. Faramir rode to the small village where he'd met Damrod and Mablung 15 years earlier, hoping to make up for the rest and food he'd been shorted in Edoras. As he walked through the small settlement, there was a feeling that he did not enjoy. It was a cold, late evening in a time of harvest, but there were no warm fires glowing inside anyone's houses. Faramir knocked at Indis's door. For a long moment, there was no sound inside, as though someone was purposely trying to be silent. Faramir caught movement at the window and a moment later the door was opened very slightly.

"Who are you?" whispered a tense voice.

"Faramir, Damrod's companion," he answered.

The trembling woman ushered in Faramir quickly. "The Rangers have gone after them?" she asked.

"Gone after whom, my lady?" Faramir asked, putting an arm around Indis to calm her.

"Goblins, orcs, I do not know what they were!" she wept. "I thought they would burn everything to the ground, but they did not. They came through here as if they were looking for someone, or something. They killed everyone they laid eyes on… Malantur…."

Faramir held the elder woman, speaking in soft tones as his grandfather did when someone was deeply troubled. "_Sidh, hiril-nín, im nev_." When morning rose, Faramir saw the extent of what Indis meant. Huge orc-like carcasses lay in the road as well as the bodies of men, women, and children alike. It was expected that the orcs would burn the village, that was what they usually did, and so people ran out of their homes to escape, only to be slaughtered as they ran. The scene was even more chilling to Faramir than the dark, looming figure that had put such fright into the soldiers who defended Osgiliath at the battle earlier that year.

It did not look as though anyone but Indis had survived, but Faramir checked them all to no avail. Faramir wished there had been time and enough help to bury the dead, or at least cremate them, but it could not be done. He also wished he could have escorted Indis to Minas Tirith, but that also was out of the question. Instead, he gave Indis his horse, collected what supplies he could, and found a suitable weapon so she could protect herself. She would have to get to the White City on her own, Faramir knew it was too perilous for him to go there, but she was a smart, resourceful woman, and he was sure that she could make it. He himself now needed to get to Henneth Annun a little quicker than before, and he would be doing it on foot.

Indis had an easier time of her journey than Faramir did. She was fortunate enough to run into a troop coming from Dol Amroth, led by Imrahil, who not only escorted her into the city, but helped her to find suitable accommodations, a rare thing in Minas Tirith at that time. Imrahil's men also escorted Lady Mithrellas, who had come to the city not only for the protection it offered, but also to offer her services in the Houses of Healing, over the years having become skilled in medicinal arts. Among the Swan Knights now rode Eldor, having finally accepted Imrahil's commission a year after his secret beloved's untimely death.

Faramir, on the other hand, made it to the western shore of the Anduin two days after leaving Indis. He was near Cair Andros, in the light of the full moon he could see the island downstream as the water broke against the rocks, but Faramir had to wonder if it was wise to go there first. In the end, though, his only choices were stopping at Cair Andros or attempting to swim across the river, not truly an option in what Faramir guessed was late December or the beginning of the new year.

As it turned out, his only real choice wasn't so unpleasant after all. He finally had a decent, hot meal and a sound night's rest, and no one seemed to think it at all odd that he had not been with his men, but with Captain Boromir on a "special mission" for the past six months. From there, Faramir went on to Ithilien feeling at least a little bit renewed. Faramir was in sight of Henneth Annun, at long last, when he started asking questions that had not occurred to him till then. He knew his men would have just recently returned to their outpost, but under the command of whom? Though loyalty was the ultimate priority to his Rangers, what was to say that they would accept his being away as easily as the men at Cair Andros did? He did not tell anyone of his departure when he quit the service of the Steward, and though he did not officially resign his post, Denethor likely would have replaced him immediately.

Faramir went cautiously then, his hood shrouding him. So as not to be taken for an intruder, Faramir walked south of the cave's obscured entranced and whistled the call of the crow, the universal language among Rangers meaning that a friend was approaching. He had to smile as he saw several men appear at concealed stations, only one of their own would have known to look for them and likely no one else would have been able to spot them. He moved unhurriedly toward the cave, knowing that his Rangers were watching his every move intently. A masked guard moved from behind a tall rock that stood beside the waterfall and Faramir spoke the password in a whisper, "arandur."

The guard nodded and Faramir stepped behind the waterfall and passed down the narrow tunnel. He could hear the footsteps of several coming along behind him, but he did not remove his cloak until he was in the main chamber of the caverns. All at once, every man who was there at the time said, "Captain Faramir!"

"If you can still call me that, aye," was Faramir's response.

Mablung walked up to Faramir, clasped his shoulders a little tighter than necessary, and stared directly into his eyes. "If you think any man here would call another man _his_ captain in your presence, then leave, for I was raised to turn out scoundrels."

Faramir chuckled and embraced his friend. Suddenly, the memory of what had happened at the village by the river mouth came back to him. Faramir turned, looking for Damrod, and asked his two companions to speak with him privately. There he explained that on his road back he'd stopped to rest in the village and told them of what had happened. He told Damrod that he'd given his mother his horse, supplied, and a weapon and that she had gone on to Minas Tirith alone, for none else survived. A hundred times it seemed that Faramir had borne the same grim duty to families of his men, never had it been so hard as this though, now he was telling one of his men that his family was gone.

"Who did it?" Mablung asked in a broken voice that did not fit such a big, hearty man.

"I wish I could say for certain," Faramir said, his voice soft in compassion. "The carcasses I found, I would call them orcs, but that they were much bigger, more man-like in a way. They did not bear the mark of Sauron, though, and I am not certain what it may mean. The only mark I could discern was an "S" rune, and I have my suspicions."

For a long while thereafter, Faramir simply sat in silence with Mablung, offering his understanding support. It was a luxury he afforded a close friend with the knowledge that much more of this sort of thing was coming to them, quickly, and he would not physically be able to support everyone who would lose a loved one. Moreover, Faramir knew well that it was all too real a possibility that he could find himself the one in need of support too; either that or his own family would.

ooo

_I'd take it no one objects to the long chapter this time? I have been taking into consideration just how many of you would like me to let Boromir live. My regular readers know that nothing is ever just that simple when i am at the pen though :) More will be made "clear" about that soon._

_linda: I definitely want to make use of your PB, i think it is really worthy of exploration. One of these days i will get around to it._

_Elenhin: I have a soft spot for duckies and such things, and i thought it just fit the scene well. I think Duck-duck may well make an appearence in a one-shot at some point. Of course, i want Boromir to live too. I've never written a version of the Amon Hen scene before, but considering how Boromir has pretty much gotten his way in everything else i've written, he probably will now too. For better or worse. _


	45. The Ring Goes South

For the two months after Faramir's arrival at Henneth Annun, the Ranger's stationed in Ithilien were busier than they had ever been. Ordinarily the "first half" (the patrol stationed during the first half of the year) was thought to have an easier time of it, there were generally fewer attacks during the winter and spring months than there were during the summer and fall months. No man who had ever been in Ithilien during the "first half" of the year ever agreed with that myth, though.

The winter months were worse than lean in most cases. Though the troops stationed through the fall always made certain that their compatriots had adequate stores set by from the harvest, it was usually only enough to get them through until late February before it began to run low. It was also usually around the time that tempers started to fray. From then until about May it was a rather unsteady diet of rabbit and a few roots to boost energy now and then. It took a man of much more stamina to patrol Ithilien in the "first half" than in the second.

It happened late in February that Faramir was scouting with several of his men near the river. Something upstream caught his eye and he walked down closer to the bank. It was a small boat that looked to be unmanned, as it came closer Faramir knew with certainty that the vessel was of Elven craft. Moreover, the boat seemed to be low in the water, as if laden, and Faramir's curiosity prompted him to wade out and take a closer look, despite the hissing whispers of his companions urging him to stay back. Faramir knew this boat had to come from Lorien, and he knew that such boats did not often simply "drift off." Wading out and catching the small vessel's stern, Faramir immediately shouted for help.

Running into the river, as much as one can "run" through water, Damrod came Faramir's side first. Together the two men pulled the boat to the shore. Faramir just stood for a few moments in silence, he was too afraid even to check if Boromir was living or not. Damrod put a hand to Boromir's brow and, feeling warmth, lifted the soldier into his arms. "We've got to get him back to the cave, Captain," Damrod said urgently.

"He lives?" Faramir said almost incredulously.

"Barely," Damrod muttered as Mablung hurried toward them.

"I'll take his Lordship, I can bear him easier. You just look after the Captain," the big Ranger said, noting how pale Faramir was looking.

In the boat were a number of items: Boromir's sword and shield, the Great Horn, orc weapons. Orc weapons… then they were attacked. Someone had clearly taken Boromir for dead, for this was a funeral boat if ever there was one, and it was someone in a hurry. Damrod took the sword and shield and pressed the horn into Faramir's hands before attempting (and failing) to knock a hole into the boat to sink it. Rangers were well aware of what harm could be done by one boat going astray and landing in the wrong hands, it was why their patrol was so vital. Giving up, Damrod pushed the boat back into the river, hoping that it would not wash up on the wrong shore. He took his Captain under the arm and all but forced him to get back to the cave.

Faramir's mind was awash with fear. What had happened, and who else might not have escaped? Faramir was sure that his father would have known the difference between life and death; did this then portend further tragedy? Faramir did not think that he could cope with the loss of his father, but he forced himself to put such things out of his mind when they made it back to the cave.

Mablung had already arrived and found Boromir a "comfortable" place to lie, or at least it was what Rangers referred to as comfortable, and he'd set out what medicinal supplies they had available. He backed away when Faramir entered, knowing well that his captain's skill in healing had saved several men in the past. Faramir, however, did not immediately reach for anything curative. Instead, he knelt beside his beloved half-brother, brushing the hair away from his face and feeling how hot he was. It took a moment to register with Faramir that he would need cold water to start with. Only when he heard a low groan from Boromir did he realize what misery his brother must be in, it was almost too much to believe that he was even alive.

Damrod fetched a bucketful of near-icy water from the falls and Faramir set a soaked cloth on Boromir's forehead to calm him, hoping it would help bring down the fever. He began to cut away the many layers of clothes from his brother, but stopped suddenly when he caught a golden glint under Boromir's shirt. Faramir's heart raced in panic and setting aside his knife he lifted his brother and took him behind the curtained recess without a single word to anyone.

Faramir's fingers reached tentatively for the laces on Boromir's shirt, his eyes closed, silently repeating to himself that "it could not possibly be _that_." When he pulled the shirt back, though, his worst fears were confirmed when he saw that simple and unassuming golden ring suspended from a chain. Faramir bowed his head, resting his forehead against Boromir's chest. "How could you?" he murmured repeatedly, as if speaking directly to his brother's heart.

Another small, weak moan from Boromir brought Faramir back to the reality of the situation. Telling himself that he would deal with this latest predicament when Boromir was able to tell him what happened, Faramir set about trying to get his brother re-hydrated and cooled down. Knowing it would take time, he again set about removing Boromir's garments, and wishing that his brother had not been so formal in his travel attire, some of these were costly garments to be slicing through.

The examination needed not be overly thorough for Faramir to see what had happened. An arrow wound that, by all rights, looked like it should have killed Boromir, was looking all the worse for infection. Faramir guessed at how long it might have been that his brother went without food, water, or even conscious thought and he knew that even a day was too much. It took hours for Faramir to clean and dress to his satisfaction the wound his brother had taken; Faramir insisted on working alone because he could not risk anyone else seeing what was suspended from Boromir's neck.

It was a painful process for them both, more so for Faramir than for Boromir because the elder of the two was mostly unconscious, only whimpering weakly when the procedure was most painful. Faramir wished he had the resources his grandfather had; he could have made certain that his brother felt nothing and the wound could have cleaned and dressed much more to Faramir's liking. Nevertheless, infection drained and dressed, Faramir concentrated on making sure that the fever broke, and soon. He dressed Boromir as best he could under the circumstances, needing to conceal the Ring, but not even remotely willing to touch it himself. Only then did he ask Damrod's assistance in keeping watch on Boromir's fever.

For four days Faramir stayed as near to his brother as circumstances allowed. The fever had not receded enough for Faramir's comfort and twice he had to reopen the wound on Boromir's chest. It was only luck, or perhaps something a little more powerful than luck, that kept the arrow from hitting his heart and it was more than just fortunate that the tip was not poisoned. Still Boromir was largely insensible; he recognized that Faramir was with him, but beyond that nothing more. He could speak but a little and did not usually say more than his brother's name, though several times Faramir heard him asking for his mumma as if he did not even remember that she had died when he was 10.

Faramir was in a terrible position. Every time someone reported to him of the movements of the enemy in the area, their situation grew more pressing. He knew he could not get Boromir moved from the cave, though, and then there was… _it_. Faramir did not even want to approach that subject in his own mind. What could have transpired to land this thing in Boromir's possession? The knowledge that his father would never have allowed that to happen terrified Faramir. The desire to stay in the refuge at Henneth Annûn until the coming war either was won or lost was very strong, but Faramir recognized the persuasiveness of the Ring and knew that there would be no winning or losing until _it_ was either found by Sauron or destroyed by _someone_.

That, then, was Faramir's answer. Regardless of what happened to bring this situation to his feet, he was the only one present who could put things right. Faramir had made his decision, he would go into Mordor, leaving his trusted companions in command to do what they judged best, and he was even just reaching to remove the chain from around Boromir's neck when Mablung called for his captain, saying two trespassers had been intercepted and were being brought, blindfolded, to the cave.

Faramir was not at all in the mood to deal with more trouble, and yet it was a reason to delay having to take the Ring immediately. Faramir fixed his mask and hood in place and looking for the millionth time with sad eyes at his half-brother, he emerged into the main chamber of the cavern. In only a moment's time, he heard footsteps coming toward the falls and drew himself up, as much as he could manage, and tried to look imposing.

When the two captives were walked in and their blindfolds removed, Faramir nearly passed out from the relief that flooded him. Mablung looked a little afraid for Faramir when he saw the expression of shock and said hastily, "I shoulda' told you they were children, Captain, but with the Steward's new laws -"

"We are not children!" cried Sam in aggravation. "And we were told to come here to see Faramir!"

"It's all right, Mablung," Faramir said, throwing back his cloak and drawing off his mask, "I know these gentlemen. Thank you for escorting them, but I shall need to speak with them privately." Faramir glanced around at the men currently in the cave and all nodded, understanding his subtle directive.

"I could not be more relieved to see two Hobbits if I tried. Please tell me what has happened," Faramir said, speaking in a soft voice, half-afraid to hear what news these little ones bore.

Sam looked at Frodo, expecting him to give Faramir the details. When Frodo said nothing, though, Sam was not surprised, he had not spoken much at all since the incident at Amon Hen. So it was Sam who told Faramir about Frodo walking off to make a decision about their road when they came to the waterfall. Faramir stopped him and asked why it was Frodo who had to make that decision, for had it not been agreed that Gandalf was to lead them?

"Mr. Gandalf… fell in Moria," Sam said in sadness. "And Strider didn't want to take on the decision about our road into Gondor, because I think he wanted to return here and fight and let Mr. Frodo get on with his part of things, if you understand me, Mr. Faramir, sir."

Taking in the fact that Gandalf was lost was difficult, but Faramir could not keep from voicing the question that had burned in him since he found Boromir in the river. "And what of my father?" he asked in a voice so small and worried that Sam reached out and patted Faramir's shoulder in encouragement.

"Strider was all right enough last we saw him," Sam said. "He was pretty upset about the Ring and all, but that's why he sent us on, said if anyone would have found him and given him and proper funeral – Lord Boromir, I mean – it would've been you. You'll pardon me for saying, but it's not that I think he deserved one."

"What did he do?" Faramir asked solemnly. "How did he get it?"

"Took it from Mr. Frodo, of course," Sam said in utter resentment. "He swore an oath, and he took it from him, near strangled him to death as well!" Faramir lowered his head and the distress around him was so evident that Sam softened his tone, remembering that he had called the man brother. "Them orcs caught up with him near the river and he was shot. They took Mr. Merry and Pippin, and Strider meant to go after them, said it would be best if we came here alone,in secret anyway."

"It's here, Sam," said a distracted sounding voice that did not seem much like Frodo's voice.

"All right, Mr. Frodo," Sam hushed. "Have a bit more of this stuff, maybe, now we are here leastways," he said handing Frodo a few bits of lembas.

"Sam, Boromir did not die. I do not know what happened to him, but I saw the way he behaved when the Ring was near and he was not the man I have known then. I found him in a boat on the river four days ago, I took him for dead but a companion felt the heat on his brow and we brought him here. You are right, Frodo, it is here. Had you not come just now…. I had no way of knowing what had gone on, if any remained, and I was going to take it upon myself to get to Mordor. This must be done, somehow."

Faramir drew back the curtain to reveal Boromir, sleeping fitfully. Frodo slowly moved toward him took the chain from around his neck, setting him about himself once again. Sam glared at the warrior lying there, but he was also able to see the damage done and didn't think it right for anyone to endure such a thing.

"Thank you, Mr. Faramir," Sam said sincerely, looking up into Faramir's eyes. "What you've done has probably saved us all."

Faramir nodded, knelt to Sam, and whispered, "the burden now rests on your shoulders. Do not leave Frodo's side." He paused for a moment, glancing back toward the recess where his half-brother lay. "I know what you think of him, but I have known him for many years, and always was his honor his second priority, for he would never place himself above those who he defended. He folded under a pressure that wearied even my grandfather, Lord Elrond, while he was in its presence. You, Sam, are more than extraordinary. Stay true, and lay low, for your way is perilous." Faramir then called Damrod and Mablung and asked them to see Sam and Frodo safely off and to give them a bit of nutrition, if any could be spared.

Faramir went back to his brother and checked his fever, bathing his face in cold water and trying to get him to drink a little. Boromir now moved a bit on his own for the first time in days, drawing himself onto his side and curling toward his little brother. Faramir leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I've done what I could to put things right again, and you have already paid dearly," he whispered, tenderly brushing the sweat-soaked hair from his brother's face. "Now please just let me have my big brother back."

ooo

_linda: Horrors, indeed, one minor scene out of what would have been many just like it. And, yes, compassion is Faramir's middle name... even though there really aren't middle names in Middle-earth, how ironic. You have been reading my writing for a long time, you should know what a truly terrible muse i have. _

_Elenhin: I used to not fit so much into chapters. I suppose i was always worried that you, the readers, would think it too long and get bored half-way through the chapter. As to letting Boromir have his way... do you think i maybe should have reigned him in a bit this time?_

_Redone: Thanks. I try to keep the updates coming as often as i can. I had a lot of pondering to do on this chapter before i settled on this course, but still it came pretty quickly once i got going. I almost always have reasons for what i write, though ocassionally i don't. I hated to split up Faramir from his family, too, but it did have to be done. I just could not bring myself to write a 10th member fic, it so messes up the beautiful balance of Walkers against Riders._


	46. The Battle of Helm's Deep

It happened that at the same time that Faramir was fighting for his half brother's life in the cave refuge, so Aragorn was also fighting in defense of the Hornburg in Rohan. It was at the end of that battle, once Gandalf had finally managed to show up with some assistance, that Aragorn took a wound to his shoulder. He had taken much worse in his days and, being a healer, was simply able to clean it and dress it without worrying anyone. They had much more to accomplish and Aragorn was starting to get the feeling that Théoden's pigheadedness about the miserly use of his armed resources was going to result in a real loss of time that they did not have on their side. Aragorn knew at some point he would have to go it alone, but he'd been hoping for a little aid to meet him when he got there.

Besides, Aragorn would rather have to amputate his own arm then allow the king's niece to tend it. In his experience, cooking skills and healing skills tended to go hand-in-hand, and… Valar! Perhaps it was not wise to think on that subject after a battle, surely he was feeling green about the gills enough as it was.

"And what's wrong with you, laddie?" enquired a stout Dwarf, but why he had not noticed anyone approaching? Aragorn shook his head slightly to try to focus his thoughts. Why was he so hot in the early days of March? Peeling off his leather tunic and feeling the mail underneath he figured that was what was weighing him down. Trouble was, he didn't really remember that he'd been wearing mail and getting it off seemed to be a rather tricky practice. Again he shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

"Estel, what is troubling you?" asked another, quieter voice beside him.

"I'm thirsty," Aragorn said without really thinking, though he was indeed.

Legolas removed his water canteen and handed it to Aragorn, who drank it down in one swallow. "Stand up?" Legolas asked, offering a hand.

"I am… well, I was," Aragorn said, looking around and noting that he was in fact sitting against a wall, though he had not noticed any downward moving on his part.

"Are you well?" Legolas asked quietly in concern as he pulled his friend to his feet and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Aye," Aragorn said, though it was a complete lie and he was reasonably sure Legolas would see right through it. "I just need some sleep, I think. It's been rough these last few days."

"_Le anta amin tu_?" Legolas asked.

Aragorn simply shook his head, though it was unclear if he meant to signal "no" or if he was just trying to get his bearings again. He staggered off toward the Deep in search of somewhere quiet to lie down.

"Well, you'd think he's never seen a battle before!" Gimli said, incredulous that this toughened warrior was so affected by the day's work.

"He has assuredly seen more than his share," Legolas said. "You should ride to Isengard with Mithrandir; I am going to stay here with Estel."

"Aye, that may be for the best. You can work some of that fancy Elven magic to which you so frequently refer and get him back into his saddle so that we can have this War done with."

"I am not a healer, Gimli. I do wish now more than ever that Pilin-nen had joined us instead of Boromir," Legolas said in uneasiness. At Gimli's half-curious, half-annoyed look, Legolas explained that he had called Faramir Pilin-nen ever since he first met the little one, "pilin-nen" meaning "water-bird," as he had found him about to go for a swim, though he was much too young to know how to swim.

So it was that Gimli went on ahead with Gandalf and Théoden to Isengard. He explained to the old Wizard that Aragorn was not feeling well and Legolas thought it best to stay with him so that they could get back on the road in a couple days' time. Gandalf looked a little apprehensive, but then, according to everything he had heard, his old friend had not given himself a break since Boromir's death. More than that, it took no stretch of imagination to see how Aragorn would make himself sick over what had happened to the Ring.

When the weary Ranger had taken him aside and told him of what had happened at Amon Hen, Gandalf only grew even whiter than he already was. It was enough for Aragorn to have had to deal with one loss to their Fellowship, but two was really pressing things. Then when Frodo had regained consciousness later in that day and told Aragorn that Boromir had taken the Ring, the same Boromir whose lifeless body was currently floating down the Anduin… well, it was a wonder that Aragorn had the presence of mind to send Frodo and Sam on to find Faramir. It was now Faramir who was their last hope, for if he did not find his half-brother, or if someone else did, all would be lost.

Into the night after the battle at Helm's Deep, Legolas sat by his long-time friend. Aragorn had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep as soon as he found a relatively cool place to lie down, away from all the clamor as many of the women and children left the refuge in search of their homes, if any remained. Though not a healer or accustomed to dealing with Mortal health, Legolas knew that the important thing was to keep Aragorn drinking.

It was late in the night when a young woman, the king's niece, Legolas thought her to be, found them. "I was told that you did not ride out, so I came looking. I brought some supper," she said offering a bowl to Legolas.

The Elf paled slightly more than usual but smiled kindly. "Thank you, but I… Elves do not eat as often as Men do." He glanced again at Aragorn, wondering if that was what had taken his friend down.

"Perhaps I shall leave this, then, for when Lord Aragorn wakes?" she said hopefully.

Legolas kept his smile in place, though, and said, "actually, what he needs more than anything is fresh, clean water."

"He is unwell?" she asked in obvious alarm.

"I do not know," Legolas replied, though he definitely did know. "I think, for now, he just needs sleep and water." He hoped that much would placate the woman and calm her. It was apparent that this lady of the court of Rohan had developed some manner of affections for Aragorn, but Legolas knew his well enough to know that there was no way he could return those feelings. Still, he had no intention of saying anything that might be hurtful to this woman; her eyes betrayed that she had already been hurt much in her life.

When the company returned from Isengard the next day, Legolas's concern had grown greatly. Aragorn was clearly in discomfort, but the Elf could not get any real response out of him, mostly he only called for his son or father. When Gandalf had a look at him, he lifted up the Ranger into his arms at once. "Is there a competent healer in Edoras?" Gandalf asked Théoden.

"What do you mean by that?" enquired the proud king sharply. "Of course there is a _competent _healer in Edoras. In fact, I would stand him against any of Minas Tirith's healers!"

"Uncle," Éomer interceded, "that man was found dead several months ago."

Gandalf, in aggravation, took Aragorn up upon Shadowfax, charged off toward the Golden Hall, saying something about hoping that for once _they_ had not decided to dally about and were ahead of schedule.

Fortune, for a change, decided to look with pity upon the race of Men, and it so happened that a pair of Elven twins were even then riding toward the Deep from Edoras, along with a host of Dúnedain, intent on catching up with their little brother en route. When the two riding parties met, Elladan took one look at Estel and jumped down from his horse, taking Estel from Gandalf's hold and laying him down under a tall tree.

"How long has he been like this?" Elladan asked urgently.

"Since early yesterday, I believe," Gandalf said. "Gimli told me that he did not look well, but after the last few days, it was scarcely surprising."

Elladan didn't even bother asking about _the last few days_. "I need boiling water, 'Ro," he said to his twin, already pulling off his riding gear and removing Aragorn's shirt. He really wished that wound on his little brother's shoulder had not healed over; it was only going to make this worse.

"Apparently, he has been more or less unresponsive," Gandalf said, offering a hand.

"Is that so?" Elladan said, kindling a small fire and unrolling a pouch that contained several tiny knives. He gently bathed the area around the wound before passing a little shining knife through the fire. "Well, I daresay I will be able to get a response. Anyone wish to take bets?" Tossing a various few crushed leaves into the boiling water and said, "let that steep, he's going to need it," before laying the knife's edge to his little brother's shoulder.

All bets were off when an agonized cry resounded against the White Mountains and over the plains of Rohan.

ooo

_Le anta amin tu - Do you need help_

_I should say for the record that no one is safe - yet. The question is... if only one could survive, Aragorn or Boromir... which would it be?_

_linda: He's not dead yet :) I try to throw some surprises in, can't have anyone getting complacent. But i said pretty much nothing about the Ring Quest, so it sort of just sneaked up, i suppose._

_Cataclysmic: Welcome! I am flattered that you spent an afternoon reading my stuff. I hope you did not go to sleep that night wishing you had not wasted that time!_

_Elenhin: I have heard that the mark of a good writer is to fit a lot of story into a small number of words. I do try to do that, to make each word count for more than it is worth. I agree with you, i believe that it will be very difficult for Boromir when he realizes what happened. I will probably get back to that next chapter. He may well need a hug._

_AM: As i have said, i know some things i write aren't canon, and that is usually on purpose, but i just don't feel right changing the whole story around. I love it because it was done right the first time. I have kind of always wanted to to write something totally AU though, maybe one of these days._

_steelelf: A triple vote, then? Does that mean that you are still afraid for Boromir's life? You are starting to make me feel wicked or something!_


	47. Awakened

It had been ten days since Faramir pulled his half-brother out of the river, ten days that he had been doing everything he could to keep Boromir alive. So far, the work had been rather less than rewarding. It was on that tenth day that Faramir was finally able to break the fever and the Captain General of Gondor, for the first time in a long time, had fallen into a natural, restful, healing sleep. That much was a relief to Faramir who himself had been going without rest and he lay down beside Boromir to, hopefully, get his own sleep.

Faramir woke sometime in the night to find Boromir sitting up and drinking deeply from an earthenware pitcher. For a moment, he was so entirely relieved to see his brother up and doing things for himself again that he nearly wept. He would have done had it not been so comical to see the way his poor brother tried to get his mouth around the spout of the pitcher but ended up pouring most of it on himself anyway. "Your manners are really impeccable," Faramir said, straining to keep his voice from cracking.

"I was hoping that would be the first thing I heard when I finally regained my senses," Boromir said and there was no doubt, Faramir had indeed gotten his big brother back. They embraced tightly, but Boromir pulled back hastily. "We are in Henneth Annûn?" he asked and Faramir nodded. "Perfect. Send word to Minas Tirith, Osgiliath, and Cair Andros, have them send as many troops as they can spare, have them assemble here."

Faramir's happiness immediately vanished. His brother was talking madness and he knew this to be a possible side effect of the fever; though Boromir seemed fine now, it appeared he was still mentally uneven.

"Faramir, do not give me that look. I know exactly what I am saying. Just have it done, quickly. We have a war to win," Boromir said with a strange smile.

"Have a bit more water, Bor'. I will fetch you something edible," Faramir said, attempting to pretend he hadn't heard anything Boromir said.

"I will do it myself, but either way, I am leading a march on the Black Gate to end this once and for all," Boromir declared more than threatened.

"To end what, your own life?" Faramir said in exasperation. He had spent so long trying to help his brother get better, and now this was just unacceptable to him.

"To end Sauron, Faramir. Come with me, we can do it now, we can win," Boromir said in a whisper, reaching inside his shirt. Boromir suddenly became alarmed.

"It is not there," Faramir said evenly. Valar! He had so wished this would not happen.

Boromir's stare was now leveled directly at him. "You took it for yourself!" he shouted. "Give it back to me; you have no right to use it!"

Faramir just shook his head. "I do not have it, Boromir, and none of us has the right to use it. I let Frodo take it back."

Boromir's anger was for a moment turned to incomprehension. "Frodo?" he asked as if the name sounded familiar but he could not place it.

"The Hobbit, the one we all swore to protect," Faramir said.

The change about Boromir's countenance was profound as he slowly remembered what had happened and as he saw just what he had done, for the first time now that he realized the Ring was not in his possession and nor was he in it's. For a long time he sat silent, numb, statue like, before he said very quietly, "I broke my oath, I betrayed my word." He looked over at Faramir, nothing at all showing in his eyes, and asked, "how long have you known this?"

"Since four days after I brought you here. I had just determined that I would have to take it myself because I had no way of knowing that anyone else was… able to. If Frodo and Sam had not come just then…."

"And how long has it been since then?" Boromir asked, a slight edge creeping into his tone.

"Six days now," Faramir replied.

"Ten days? You let me lay here in his cave for ten days, six of which you knew what I had done. Why am I still alive?" Boromir demanded.

Faramir now looked more concerned than before. "You are alive because I would not give up on you," he said adamantly.

"You had no right! No right!" Boromir shouted as he broke down. "I failed; in the worst way that I could… you had no right to save my life like that!"

"Boromir, I could not -"

"Go away!" the man wept. "You do not know what I have done… when I swore to protect the Ring-bearer, I meant more than what I said. I meant your father, too, for I recognized the Ring of Barahir, and I knew… but I have failed absolutely. Leave me alone."

"Not to me -" Faramir started to say.

"Did I not ask to be left alone? Can I not even have that dignity? No, you are right; I have not shown myself worthy of it. If you are wise, you will leave me here, though. I cannot go home."

"Well, in all honesty, I had planned for you to stay here. It will be safer for you here, especially now that you are alert, and you really cannot fight in your condition," Faramir said, though he felt terribly guilty about it.

"How bad is it?" Boromir asked quietly.

Faramir smiled slightly. "It's gotten much better in the last few days. I had really thought you were lost for a while. At least, the infection is cleared up and now you are -"

"I meant the War."

Faramir just shook his head. "I do not know. All that we have seen from here has not given any good signs."

"Captain!" called a voice softly from without the recess. Boromir, nearest the curtain, moved to draw it aside. "Captain, I – gods! Lord Boromir!" The man moved to kneel at once.

"Skip it, Anborn. I am not in any… _official_ capacity right now," Boromir said rather bitterly.

"Captain, I have just had word of trouble on the home front. We are needed and commanded to come at once," Anborn said to his Captain.

"I have kept you out far too much, Anborn, and I apologize for it. I care rather little who commands what, are the people in need?" Faramir asked.

"They are, sir, desperately," the Ranger replied.

"Then we leave in the morning. Take your rest and I shall see to preparations." Faramir rose and stepped over his brother.

Boromir reached up and caught his hand. "My sword and shield," he said.

"They were brought as well," Faramir nodded.

"Bring me them, and armor if any is spare," Boromir said.

Faramir refused though, saying, "you are not in the condition. You must rest here."

"Faramir, damn you if you so much as _attempt_ to stop me from this!" Boromir said forcefully but very evenly.

"You think you will try to regain your honor by swinging steel? You never lost it, Boromir, not to a force like that. Honor is not found in one's actions so much as in how one reacts to one's actions," Faramir said, rather channeling his grandfather's words.

"That is fine for you to say, all very easy, but were you tempted by it until you were blinded and no longer yourself?" Boromir asked, again sounding very bitter with himself.

"No, I was not," Faramir said honestly. "I was too busy trying to save my brother's life to be concerned with the Ring."

"You should not have been. If you really believe all that and refuse to have me go with you, than at least do me a small favor," Boromir said.

"I would do anything in my power for my brother," Faramir said.

"Take the Horn to my father and tell him that I am dead. I do not intend to return to Minas Tirith," Boromir said with his eyes shut, almost as if he was trying to burn the memory of the White City into his mind.

"I can not do such a thing, Boromir, you know that," Faramir said.

"No, likely my father will have you hanged if you do. Then send another," he said absently.

"I will not," Faramir said flatly. "I bear no love for Denethor, but I will not tell a father that he has lost his son if it is not so. I know the pain my own father bore, I shall not do that to another. And frankly, what honor is there in running away?"

"It would be easier than having to stand there in the Hall and hear my banishment pronounced. Do you have no pity for me?" Boromir said, his throat constricting at the thought of never seeing his beloved White City again.

"No, I reserve my pity for the piteous," Faramir said straightforwardly. "It is certainly not for the strong and noble, nor for the worthy."

"Noble and worthy," Boromir laughed humorlessly. "Do you know what one of the last things I remember is? Those two younger Hobbits, I watched them trying their all to fight back against some kind of hybrid orcs as I reached for one of boats. I meant to get away immediately and bring _it_ to my father. I do not know what ever happened to those innocent little ones, but I have never known orcs to take prisoners. If they are dead, it is because of me."

Faramir looked deeply into his brother's eyes and saw in him the need for redemption, if only for his own peace. He knew too that Boromir lived to fight and that it would be more of an injustice to force him to rest. In the end, Faramir relented and allowed Boromir to go with his Rangers to Cair Andros, then across the river and on to Osgiliath.

ooo

_grumpy: Yes, Aragorn was a slight bit out of it there. Do the Twins not have a great habit of turning up just when they are needed? A lot like Gandalf in fact._

_linda: Heheh... well, you shall have to keep on reading to see what happens next i suppose._

_steelelf: Killed who? Now when did i ever kill off... well... I should be tired too, 4:00 in the morning, don't know how i am managing this at the moment. What's going on? Oh, nothing much, did a bit of cleaning, had dinner, watched a movie... Oh, you mean in the story! _

_Cataclysmic: I shall be happy to hear, or read, as it were, whatever thoughts you might have about the rest of the "Chaos" series as well. _

_Elenhin: Think Bor' needs those hugs yet? I can definitely understand the stress of moving heavy objects. I tend to play the weak female when it comes to those things, it's a defense mechanism i guess. Anyway, the War is not won, and so i wouldn't count anyone a "survivor" just yet. I like to keep everyone wondering, even myself sometimes. I thought it wouldbe interesting to see how Boromir reacts though, and it think it might be a good thing indeed that he has Faramir to talk some sense into him._


	48. Balance of Power

Faramir and his company arrived at Osgiliath by midday. Everyone agreed that rest, at the very least a meal, was in order before they entered the city. Though Faramir did not object to a short break, he did not feel easy about it either. There was something on the air that disquieted him, and his eyes were ever glancing up and east as his men took what was left of their food supplies.

"Come on and eat, little brother," Boromir said, approaching Faramir as he stood off a bit from the group, "I know you are hungry. Hold this a moment while I re-lace this tunic? Really, you had nothing up in that cave to fit me properly?" Boromir whined, handing Faramir the split Great Horn as he squirmed like a restless, uncomfortable child.

Faramir held the Horn reverently despite the fact that it was fractured, but ignored his half-brother's moaning. "I was hungry, but I am rather not now. I think we had best get back to the city, now," Faramir said, a feeling of fear growing on him with every minute.

"Why, Faramir? What troubles you?" Boromir asked quietly.

"I can not quite…," Faramir trailed off, straining to hear something on the air. "Get out of here… now! Get back to the city," he suddenly shouted. "Leave everything and ride!"

For a split second, the Rangers just looked at their captain, but then they heard it, too: a low, deep sound as of massive wings beating the air – winged Nazgûl. They simultaneously dropped their meager food and picked up their weapons, running for the horses that were kept at Osgiliath for them when they were sent for. In the next moment, each man was flying across the Pelennor, making for the city gates. Unfortunately, they were not the only ones flying. Nazgûl swooped in low, knocking riders from their mounts. Every man rode harder than he knew possible, each his only thought to reach the safety of the city.

Suddenly, up ahead the Rangers saw a white rider coming toward them from the city. The rider held aloft a long staff from which a bright beam shot, holding at bay the Fell Beasts. For a moment, Faramir took the white rider for the White Wizard and nearly turned back to take his chances with the Nazgûl, but he rode on to the safety of the city, taking advantage of whatever manner of magic it was. Faramir was still braced when the gates were shut, fearing that he would now have to stand against Saruman, and would not that be problematic!

"Mithrandir?" Faramir asked, seeing his dear friend's face as he rode up to him. That smile told him all he needed to know. Embracing his old mentor, Faramir said, "I was told that you fell."

"I did," Gandalf said simply. "I had a little fight with a Balrog, how do you suppose I got all this," indicating his bright white gear. Faramir, you and I must speak, urgently."

Faramir nodded. "Of course, I have much to tell you of as well."

"What I must speak to you of must not be heard by anyone else," Gandalf said meaningfully.

"So the same for what I must tell you of. Let me but return this to my brother," he said, pulling off the baldric from which the Great Horn suspended, "and I shall meet you in my chambers. However, mayhap I no longer have apartments here. I shall meet you in the library then?"

Gandalf looked a little concerned, for Aragorn had told him of Boromir's fall. How Faramir came to have the Horn in his possession and yet intended to return it to his brother, Gandalf did not know. The young man was looking around the crowd of Rangers who were now dismounting and thanking the gods for a near miss. "Faramir…," Gandalf said gently, "about Boromir…."

Faramir had to have looked at the crowd ten times over and his heart began to beat in fear. "Where is Boromir?" he asked Mablung urgently.

"I haven't seen our Lord among any here, Captain," Mablung said with much dread.

"Nor have we," said Anborn riding up with Damrod.

"No…," Faramir whispered, riding back toward the gates, and telling the guard to open them.

"Do not touch those gates unless you wish this city to be taken by the servants of Mordor!" Gandalf shouted to the guards standing there, who looked quite terrified.

"Gandalf, my brother is out there!" Faramir insisted. He was not about to leave him laying there on the Pelennor to be supper for some Black Beast.

"And no one needs _you_ to be 'out there' as well," Gandalf said firmly.

"Open the gates," Faramir said again.

"Do not!" Gandalf shouted again.

"I will not abandon him!" Faramir said, now raising his voice considerably.

Gandalf sighed. "Faramir, I can not just let you go back out there. Your father would never forgive me if I lost you." Gandalf hoped that hearing something of Aragorn would pull Faramir back.

"Then he was alive when last you saw him?" Faramir asked.

"Quite, thanks to your uncles. He should be on his way here by now," Gandalf said.

"Good," Faramir said, "if I can not do so when he gets here, tell him I love him dearly, but since I heard that he was well and Boromir might not be, I did what I had to do." Faramir turned again and lifted the bar on the gates himself. The Nazgûl were driven back well enough and Faramir guessed that he would have just enough time to search. There were only maybe five men downed by the flying Wraiths, though that was five too many and each was a man who Faramir knew and relied on. None, however, was his brother. Faramir's heart was beating to a rhythm of horror as he rode back into the city. How could Boromir have simply disappeared? He was sure his brother had been right behind him as they mounted up and fled. Was it possible that one of the winged beasts snatched him up and took him, thinking that he still bore the Ring?

Gandalf was standing by the gates as Faramir returned, having suggested that the Rangers go on and get food and rest before they were called up again, and he went to hold Faramir as he dismounted, letting the man's tears break into his shoulder.

"How could he just disappear?" Faramir sobbed.

"Come, Faramir, ride with me. No, Shadowfax can bear us," Gandalf said gently. Though he did not say so, he was intensely interested in the fact that Boromir had been with Faramir, and so intensely worried that he was still in possession of the Ring. That was exactly how Boromir could have "just disappeared," so Gandalf thought. "We shall talk in my quarters, there is another waiting there, but he knows as much of our purpose as… well, he knows."

ooo

Aragorn was in agony. His shoulder had hurt a bit before because it had been wounded, but now he woke to a sudden, blinding pain as if he was being stabbed all over again. He was not really aware that he was literally crying out until he heard someone say, "We have always told you not to sleep in, Estel."

"Quiet, 'Ro," someone else said. "I am sorry that I did not have time administer a sedative, Estel."

"Adar…," Aragorn whimpered, reaching out with his arm that did not cause him torture.

"_Sidh_, Estel. Not quite adar, but we are here," Elrohir said, taking pity on his little brother, holding his hand and stroking his hair. It was too easy for him to remember the many times he'd begged for his father when his brother had to bandage him up in the field. It was a fortunate thing indeed that Elladan had been the twin with a skill for healing, for Elrohir was most assuredly the twin with the skill of incurring injury.

"All right, the worst is past, little brother," Elladan said putting away his surgical knife and cleansing and dressing the wound site. "Now drink this down full. You took a little poison in that wound, so accounting for your strange behavior, but as luck would have it, you are strong enough to fight back."

"What is it?" Aragorn asked suspiciously, tears of agony still brimming in his eyes.

"It is tea, little brother. Have you not been in enough of these scrapes to know this by heart? Lavender, that's for antiseptic; chamomile, that's for a healing rest; and, naturally, burdock, for the poison."

"You are certain it is burdock and not belladonna?" Aragorn asked.

"Would we do that to our baby brother?" Elrohir asked seriously. "Just because we act like fools does not mean we would make such a rookie mistake as that. Just drink. I know burdock doesn't taste wonderful, but the lavender and chamomile will sweeten it."

"Mithrandir told me that we need to get you well enough to get to Dunharrow by tomorrow night. I am going to have a pavilion set up for you and you are going to sleep. We can leave late tomorrow morning I believe," Elladan said. "Until then, I want you to worry about nothing, understand? I am going to be directing traffic around here and aught else is out of our hands anyway."

To Aragorn, it was clear that the twins knew that the fate of the Ring was, to their knowledge, in true jeopardy. After a proper rest and some decent Elven travel food, which did not contain lembas, much to Aragorn's relief, they were able to set out again in the morning. As Aragorn had been resting, Legolas and Gimli made it to the impromptu camp; Merry had decided to go on ahead with Théoden.

Traveling to Dunharrow had not been overly difficult. It turned out that Elladan's infusion had really worked wonders. He gave the credit to Legolas, though, saying that things would have been much graver had Aragorn been allowed to become dehydrated, or, Elladan added in a whisper, if Legolas had not protected him from the King's niece's "stew." Elrohir's guess was that "stew" was Rohirric for "stomach-turning brew."

By the next morning, the Grey Company, comprised of Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn's Dúnedain, were ready to set out alone the Paths of the Dead. From then on to Gondor, it was going to be a grueling pace. After taking counsel with the twins, sent with Elrond's advice and a token from someone that raised Aragorn's spirits immeasurably, it was decided that they would go to Pelargir in order to, hopefully, intercept a Corsair's ship and sail up the Anduin. With the light of the morning, the Company disappeared into the mountain.

ooo

_Aragorn and Boromir seem to balancing each other out. Everyone time seems to get better, the fate of the other is unsure..._

_Elenhin: An interesting turn, no? What has become of Boromir, indeed? I am remaining tactfully silent for now :)_

_estelle: Oh, i understand about RL-land. I still spend a good bit of time there, but there are moments when one needs to retreat and hide from all that madness. I am glad you are enjoying the ride and i am not too predictable. As to your question, i really don't know how far this will go. Honestly, it depends on who lives and who... does not. When i am done with this, i will probably work on a few short pieces i've had on back burners and then get working on the third in the Chaos trilogy, The Return of Chaos. You don't have to apologize to me for time between reviews, and definitely not for long reviews!_

_liz: Yes, you are right. Boromir did have the Ring when Aragorn believed he was dead and sent him down the River Anduin in a funeral boat (more will come about that later). Aragorn sent Frodo and Sam to Ithilien for a few reasons, particularly: 1) because he knew "Halflings" were being looked for, Merry and Pip had already been carted off. Again, more on how Sam and Frodo escaped that will be said later on. 2) Aragorn,Legolas, and Gimli were going togo after Merry and Pip, andan extra couple of Hobbits would only slow them down. 3) Aragornnot thinkthe Ring would end up in Ithilien, but it was the only hope he had left that it would. He was counting on Faramir finding his brotherand getting him out of the River to give him a proper burial, and hopefully he would find the Ring on Boromir's person and return it to Frodo._

_Redone: I love the master's work, but i have to admit that it is fun to play around with it a bit. Sometimes, Tolkein didn't torture people enough... heheh._

_linda: As i have said, i can't make any promises of who will survive. Honestly, i would like to see some conflict between the "alpha dogs" too, but i don't see it happening in this story. I think that Boromir has a lot of respect for Aragorn and really wants to see the King return. That would come from spending so much time in Dol Amroth. I haven't forgotten the Denethor versus Aragorn conflict, perhaps i could work Boromir vs. Aragorn into that one. Anyway, about Venus (Earendil) being Faramir's key home in Black Breath - she's been shining outside my window every evening as i've been writing the last few weeks, insisting to be written in._


	49. The Heir to the Stewardship

That evening Faramir sat with Gandalf in the house afforded the Wizard when he was in the city. Even though Denethor detested the sorcerer, even he did not dare to refuse him lodging, perhaps secretly hoping that keeping him near would ward off an attack from Mordor. Faramir sipped from a cordial that his old friend offered and had to admit that he felt slightly better for it. Pippin was there too, which automatically lowered the feeling of gloom, even if the young Hobbit was particularly and abnormally reserved this evening.

"Our young Peregrin is to take an oath of fealty to Gondor tomorrow," Gandalf said conversationally, though Pippin glanced over at Faramir rather timorously, as he wished Gandalf had not mentioned the subject. Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time… but so did most things that weren't in the end.

"When I swore my oath," Faramir said, "I swore directly to the Steward. Of course, that was under daerada's advice, and it was wise. Daerada, I mean my grandfather, Elrond," Faramir explained at Pippin's confused look.

"So you are Aragorn's son, then?" Pippin said. "I mean, I knew that all along, of course. It was Merry who disagreed and thought you were Boromir's brother…, oh, I'm sorry."

Faramir squeezed his eyes shut tight, fighting against tears. He did not even really know Boromir's fate, and that was the worst part. "How could he…. Mithrandir, I swear to you, he was right behind me as we were leaving Osgiliath."

"What happened exactly, Faramir, from the time you found him?" Gandalf asked.

Faramir recounted all that had occurred at Henneth Annûn, especially regarding Frodo and Sam. Gandalf hugged Faramir, so relieved was he to hear that the Ring was back in the right hands again. "Aragorn was right to trust you," Gandalf said, beaming with pride. "And I, too, knew that if anyone was to be trusted it would be you."

Faramir took the compliment well, but he could not help feeling that there was a slight insinuation that though Faramir could be trusted, Boromir could not.

"You mean he's alive?" Pippin asked. "But why would Strider tell us –"

"Because it was what he thought to be true, Pippin," Gandalf said. "As I have heard it, Boromir took an arrow to his chest, very near his heart, and Stri- _Aragorn_, could not feel a pulse when he found him near the river. Now, I do know of several venoms that cause the heart to beat so shallowly it would feel as if there was no blood flow, and they often lead to unconsciousness or paralysis as well. So that accounts for the answer to that. However, that also disproves me, for I thought that if Boromir still held the Ring it should explain how he 'disappeared' on the Pelennor."

"Mithrandir," Faramir said tentatively, "is it possible one of those Nazgûl carried him off, thinking he still bore it?"

"It is possible, but so is everything in these days. It is highly unlikely though. For one thing, they would not be looking so much for the one that was believed to have it, for they cannot see clearly, they are only wraiths, after all. They are _drawn_ to it and so would not be drawn to your half-brother. Also, Nazgûl do not take prisoners."

"Then where can he be," Faramir said softly. "Oh, Valar, do not tell me that I shall have to bring this news to his father. He will probably have me hanged for coming back here in the first place."

"Eh… I suppose I saved you from that one," Pippin said in a small voice, hopeful that that would slightly compensate for that faux pas earlier.

"Well, someone has to return this to the Steward, either way," Faramir said indicating the Horn. "Mithrandir, what was the promise he made my grandfather? I feel as if I may well need it." Faramir stood and thanked Gandalf for everything, walking toward the door.

"Where do you intend to go?" Gandalf asked.

"To the Steward. I should rather die sooner than later," Faramir said with a weak smile.

Gandalf laughed shortly. "No, I think not, Faramir. Tonight you rest here. Tomorrow you may go to the Steward."

"Gandalf, I doubt it is acceptable for a Captain to delay in reporting. I have already delayed enough," Faramir said.

Gandalf rolled his eyes. "You are every bit as argumentative as your father, headstrong as him too. Comes from being raised by Elrond, I am sure. You three are the only ones who ever give me such cheek. Now, the point, Faramir, is that you are not Denethor's man, is that not true?"

"Of course, Gandalf, you know well -"

"Finally! Someone finally acknowledges that I know well! Since you say so, why not just stay here and rest tonight?"

Faramir nearly smiled and let Gandalf win, but his expression grew sad as he said, "I do not think I shall have any rest this night. Not until I know of Boromir's fate."

"Well," Gandalf said, pouring another glass of cordial, "have a bit more of this and then we shall see, fair enough?"

The next morning Faramir did not wake until past sunrise, or at least, the time when the sun should have risen, had it not been obscured by the pervasive darkness of Mordor. That morning after what he considered might be his last fast breaking, he went to the Hall of Kings, where he intended to wait until after Pippin had formally declared fealty before he dealt with the Steward himself. It was not going to be an enjoyable day.

Faramir stood off to the side as Pippin, nervous showing in every breath, recited an oath of fealty and service to Gondor. Faramir could not help but think it rather sad, when he was young he had stood side-by-side with his father to protect these innocent people, yet here was one of the most innocent swearing his life in front of a Lord of questionable stability. What was plain to Faramir, however, was that when Pippin swore an oath to Gondor, he meant Aragorn's Gondor, what would be when there was a King again; he just had to tough it out for a little while longer with this Steward.

Denethor seemed highly amused by this new person. The smile he wore was one few had seen in that it was not in the least sneering, but genuinely entertained. Faramir's own expression was grim and not in the least amused. He saw very clearly that the Steward looked upon Pippin as a novelty, more of a jester than aught else. He practically expected to hear the Steward suggest to one of his advisors that they get more of these "little people." Oh, he would retain his service though and expect that Pippin would fight and die for his Lord if it came to that. Denethor, Faramir thought, no longer had any concept of innocence. Others present, the Steward's servants, thought it a marvel that someone so small could uplift their poor, downtrodden Lord with such ease.

Faramir thought he would be sick when Pippin laid his lips to the Ring of the House of Húrin and Denethor actually _patted_ his head. Based on what Boromir had spoken about his childhood, how he had not seen his father from the time he was six years of age until his 20th year, it looked to Faramir that this little ceremony was a way for Denethor to attempt to get back the time he missed with his son. It was sad in a way, but when one considered that Denethor had never so much as written to his wife and child… well, even Faramir's pity had its limits.

"Now," Denethor said, ceremony complete, "why do you not get yourself to the buttery with your company, Master Hobbit? I understand that Halfling's have quite an appetite."

Pippin nodded and, in a voice one had to strain to hear, said, "yes, my Lord," before bowing and walking away. Faramir could not help but think that on this day the little Hobbit was not even slightly hungry. As he stepped forward before the Steward, Denethor's amused smile vanished. For several long moments they were at a impasse, Faramir refused to kneel and Denethor refused to acknowledge him.

"This is absurd," Faramir said at length. "I meant to return this to my brother, yet now I shall have to return it to you." Faramir extended the broken Horn toward the Steward, not really wanting actually to get near him.

"So the deserter has decided to return?" Denethor sneered. "A pity my son never married, his wife could have carried your bastard child, too. Like father, like son."

"If you compare me to my father, I take it as the highest compliment I may achieve, though I do not believe the adage myself. Surely it does not apply to you and Boromir." Faramir kept his tone civil, if not entirely respectful. "However, when you speak of Boromir, I do not think that -"

"No, you will not tell me how to speak of _my_ son! Did you think that I would be the last to learn of his death? Did you not think that when I heard that distant horn calling I would immediately go to the… ah, but you would like me to tell you all about that wouldn't you?"

"No, actually," Faramir said, "I am not that interested, and likely I know more of it than you do anyway. For instance, are you aware, Denethor, that when one accesses a palantír for the purpose of seeing the mind of another, that other can also see one's mind? Furthermore, if the other is strong and skilled, one's mind and will can in fact be altered by the other over time."

Denethor took on a very fey appearance, never before had anyone, not even those who knew, Gandalf included, dared to confront him with his use of the palantír. For a moment, Denethor looked deadly, but Faramir did not stand down, even as Denethor seemed ready to destroy him with his glare. Suddenly, though, his demeanor calmed, as if he was steeling himself. "Regroup your men and have them ready to ride to retake Osgiliath by noon."

Faramir laughed in disbelief. "You want a handful of Rangers to retake that city?"

"No," Denethor said, "I want a handful of Rangers, as well as my son's soldiers to retake that city."

"Then call upon Boromir's second-in-command. In case you have forgotten, I am no longer in _your_ service," Faramir said, turning to walk away.

"If I could do that I would have already. However, even I can not bypass the last written word of my son," Denethor said in a very bitter tone.

"What do you mean?" Faramir asked cautiously.

"I mean this," Denethor spat, holding forth a parchment.

Faramir took it and read it through, his eyes growing wide. "He can not mean this, though… I can not be…."

"I assure you, I agree most vehemently," Denethor said in disgust. "However, this document is lawful and invulnerable, and even I am powerless to change it or find a way around it. It galls me more than any other slight I have taken. Take it and leave to prepare your troops, _Captain-General_."

Faramir turned and left without a word. He returned immediately to Gandalf's quarters to seek his counsel. Faramir said nothing but handed the parchment to Gandalf, the elderly Wizard perusing it for a few moments. "Boromir's last will and testament…," Gandalf glanced up at Faramir, "Boromir's heir, eh?"

Faramir walked over to the window looking out over the Pelennor to Osgiliath. "It's dated July 3, the day before we set out for Imladris. I can not be, Mithrandir... He wants me to lead Boromir's men and mine to Osgiliath, the place is overrun with orcs, but he wants us to retake it." Faramir cradled his head in his hand. "How can I be the heir to the _Stewardship_?"

ooo

_linda: Enough twists yet:)_

_steelelf: No, Boromir hasn't got the Ring still. Even i couldn't write myself out of that situation!_

_Elenhin: In all likelihood, Boromir will be found in the next chapter. Until then, you can keep on looking for him and you can certainly give him a hug if you find him! _


	50. Lost and Found

By noon Faramir stood in front of the barracks in hideously uncomfortable plate armor. Boromir's men were practically disconsolate to hear from Faramir that the rumors of their captain's death were true, for Faramir had decided that he needed to accept his brother's loss, wherever he might be. In Boromir's place, though, every man present would follow Faramir to the death as well. The men were forming up to go to the stables and Faramir was just going toward Gandalf's quarters to ask him to relay a few things to his father, in case he did not get the chance. Even Gandalf had tears rolling down his wrinkled face as he said, "that order is madness, Faramir. No soldier is required to obey the order of a madman."

"Quite right, but I am no longer required to obey Denethor's word in any case. I am not doing this because he bid it. I am doing this for Bor-," Faramir's voice caught as he buried his face against his old friend's shoulder. Everyone in the city knew by now that this was a suicide mission. Some, the more astute and "inside" citizens of Citadel who saw often Denethor's reactions to Faramir, could not help but think this was not so much a suicide mission as it was a murder mission.

Near the barracks were the men of Boromir's company assembled was Imrahil, watching the captain intently. Not only did this young man resemble his nephew, but he also bore a resemblance to his beloved sister. Now Imrahil was aware that Finduilas had borne a second child, five years younger than Boromir and not of Denethor's loins. On her deathbed, she had spoken the name of her "little Faramir," begging the gods to protect him. As Faramir lead them to the stables to mount up and ride out of the City to Osgiliath, Imrahil went to Gandalf, whom he respected immensely, and asked who the young man was.

Gandalf's response, with an inflection of knowing why Imrahil was so interested, "that _is_ Faramir," rather than "_that_ is Faramir," stood the Prince of Dol Amroth on end for a moment.

A dearly loved child of his sister that he had never known, riding out on such a horrendous mission in devotion to his half-brother… it stirred Imrahil's heart to tears to see one so very valiant and loyal, yet so humble. To act out of love alone was a rare thing in such dark times. Would that he had only known this child as well as he did Boromir!

"Ah, do not wish it!" Gandalf said, performing that mind-reading trickery that frightened many. "Finduilas knew what she was doing, for that one had meant all to his father and neither could have come so far without the other."

Faramir hated the long ride, down through all the levels of the city. The people lined the way with sorrow in their eyes, pity for these brave men who were essentially a sacrifice. Some only wept, some ladies pressed "favors" into the hands of riders, perhaps it was a comfort to die with a woman's flower or scarf tucked inside one's gauntlet. Those whose husbands, lovers, or sons were riding reached out to them, some taking last kisses.

Faramir saw all of these goodbyes and for the first time in his life, he was thankful to be wearing a helm that covered his face; though never one to hide his feelings, the sense of privacy allowed Faramir to think of his father as they rode and to make his silent goodbyes. The one thing that broke Faramir's heart above all else was the thought of his father arriving victorious in Minas Tirith only to learn of his son's death. Faramir hated so much to be a cause of hurt to the father he adored and he allowed himself a moment, only a moment, to lean low over his saddle pommel and simply weep of what was surely to be.

Once they had all passed the gates and formed ranks on the field, Faramir turned to his men, looking each in the eye and assessing fear in some, bravery in others, sadness in them all, and he shouted, with all the passion he had, "For Boromir!" The cry was echoed by the entire company and resounded off the city walls, sure to be heard even in the highest room of the Tower.

Imrahil stood at the wall looking out over the Pelennor as he watched the men riding out. He was awash with silent tears and turned to Gandalf saying, "I have no doubt that that man is my lost nephew."

Gandalf did not respond to that, but only said, "This is going to break his father's heart intolerably. I watched him grow up at his father's side, they were inseparable, and one often wondered who was more dependant upon whom." It was rather clear that his father's was not to be the only heart hurt by this suicide mission.

"Finduilas, even if the gods shall not help, I will not fail you," Imrahil said, looking upward. He turned then and went back inside the barracks.

Osgiliath was oddly still as the riders charged toward it. It made Faramir tense and anxious. His company rode with caution into the western side of the city. This place had been crawling with orcs, it was visible from the City, but where were they now? With even more caution did the men cross over to the Eastern half of the city. That was when fighting broke out very suddenly. Many of Boromir's men were not used to the kind of city warfare being waged in the ruined streets of Osgiliath, orcs would suddenly jump out from old buildings or around corners. The Rangers, however, were used to ducking in and out of trees and so fared better.

The struggle just went on and on and it seemed that for every orc killed another nine were standing in its place. After a solid day of fighting, Faramir was growing desperate. Gondor was losing too many and it felt like they were not making so much as a dent in the enemy's forces. Faramir called his forces back to the Causeway Forts. It was at least a little easier to keep the enemy from crossing that way. What Faramir had not counted on was the fact that orcs were already coming in from Anórien, having taken Cair Andros.

When the attack from northward came in the fight grew grim. No one had really thought they would make it out of this anyway, but now was the reality starting to hit home for the men there. More and more death cries were heard, some calling desperately for loved ones, some damning the Steward for sending them, some just in agony.

"We have to retreat," Anborn said, just getting close enough to Faramir to speak before resuming his hacking of orc limbs, though his own limbs felt as though they were going to drop off on their own.

Faramir did not have time to respond immediately. For a second he found himself not swinging at anything and was able to disappear into an abandoned building to breathe for a moment. He glanced around warily, feeling the presence of another and thinking that an orc was hiding, waiting to attack him. No such thing happened though and Faramir chalked it up to paranoia. He pulled himself away from the wall, telling himself he had to go back out there. Such was the danger of taking even the shortest of rests during a battle. As he moved, though, a tiny glint in the corner caught his eye and he knelt to see what was there. As he reached out, Faramir felt something clasp his wrist, pulling him forward.

"Boromir?" Faramir merely breathed.

"Fara', get out of here now," Boromir hissed. "I don't know what you think you are doing! Go!"

"No," Faramir whispered, voice trembling. "I will not leave you here again."

"I cannot walk, you have no choice. Go!" Boromir's tone was silent but sharp.

Assessing the situation in a heartbeat, Faramir shook his head and lifted his brother into his arms. "Do not make a sound unless you want us both dead," he cautioned, knowing Boromir would protest. Faramir crossed the ruined street and ducked into another building. From there he carried Boromir to the backmost room and silently pushed open a door. The door led to a long tunnel that let out near the city wall. "I always told you it pays to spend time in a library," Faramir said. He put his brother atop his horse and told him to get back to the city.

"No, now you are going to listen to me. Everything I have done so far has been to your benefit, now I will not leave without you on this horse also, whether he likes to bear us both or not," Boromir said obdurately.

"Boromir, I will stand with the men until the end!" Faramir insisted.

"Little brother, this _is_ the end. There is naught more for us to do but to get home and hope she stands." Faramir hated the sound of resignation in his brother's voice, it was wholly foreign.

"I would have given the retreat order already if I had not found…. Anborn, call the retreat," Faramir shouted, spying his second across the way. "Now, listen to reason, I must stay to see to it that this is an honorable retreat, that we do not lose more."

"There is no longer any honor, Faramir. All that is left for a man is to save himself… or someone he loves. Now get up here!" Faramir could not help but think that Boromir was masking that statement as a way of asking for help, as if he was asking Faramir to save him, not the other way round. Boromir began to slouch forward atop the unsaddled horse and looked like he was struggling to breathe. Faramir knew he was headed for a faint and jumped up behind him, catching him just in time. It was a lucky thing that Faramir was more comfortable riding without tack than with.

As what was left of his men began their retreat, which was not going well, especially for the rearguard, a host of knights in blue was crossing the Pelennor led by a white rider. The field was already in battle; forces of orcs, Haradrim, and Nazgûl were overrunning the place, making the retreat extremely difficult, as even more of Gondor's men were lost. It was a blessing of the Valar, thought Faramir, that Boromir was not conscious to see this. A few more blessings and they might reach the city….

Just then, something struck Faramir's shoulder and knocked him from the horse. For a moment, he did not know what happened as he lay there on the ground. Then he looked around for the horse, for Boromir but did not see them. He tried to get back up, but his legs failed him completely, he was at the uttermost end of exhaustion and began to feel something strange working on him, something more than just exhaustion, something that felt so wrong, so evil that Faramir wanted to shout and scream, but he could not. He could hear orders being given to stop the Southrons before they reached Faramir.

"Drive them back! Drive them back!" Faramir heard. "Eldor, get that unmanned horse back to the city. Ride hard!" Someone was leaning over him, but he could see nothing. Whoever it was pressed a hand to his forehead and pulled the arrow out of him. From there, Faramir knew no more of the waking world, for his visions were of blackest nightmares.

"Imrahil, get him back inside," Gandalf said. "I will manage this enough to get the rest of these men out of here." Again holding aloft his white staff, Gandalf drove back the Nazgûl and a good number of orcs gave way a bit as well.

Imrahil did not need to be told once, let alone twice, and he immediately made for the city, his lost nephew cradled before him. Finally, he made it inside the gates. Up ahead there was a horse bearing an unconscious burden and one of his knights was tending Eldor, who was clearly suffering as well.

"He is struck, sir," said the young knight, referring to his comrade-at-arms Eldor.

"This day is gone ill indeed," Imrahil lamented. "Who is the rider?"

"I know him not, sir, a Ranger by the look of his uniform, though never have I seen a cloak such as his."

"Get them both to the Houses of Healing, quickly," Imrahil sighed. He had dearly hoped that Faramir had been bearing back his half-brother. Clutching Faramir a little tighter to him, Imrahil rode up to the Citadel, unsure of why he bore Faramir there first. Perhaps he had meant to berate his brother-in-law for such a brainless maneuver, with Faramir as proof. He had hoped that Denethor would come to see what he did already, that this man was the son of Finduilas and she loved him so greatly that she sent him away to where he would grow up happy. He had loved his sister more than anything and if Denethor had ever really cared for her as he claimed, he would want to see a beloved child of hers cared for as well.

It shocked Imrahil when Denethor came out from the Tower weeping and asked that Faramir be given to him. Perhaps the old buzzard had finally come to his senses after all. A fine time for it too, Imrahil thought. That hope was dashed when Denethor went immediately back into the Tower and refused to come out. Though he hated to have to leave his lost nephew when he had just "met" him, he knew he had to return to the field. He hated the thought, but he knew he had to trust Denethor to get Faramir the proper care. In the meantime, Gandalf had no hesitation about taking charge of the City with Imrahil by his side. If the Steward would not lead, someone had to.

ooo

_linda: Faramir does seem to be a bit more stubborn than usual. Must come from growing up around Elrond and Erestor. Moreover, he is just not afraid of Denethor. Now Aragorn's health is looking improved, but both Boromir and Faramir are jeopardized. I have gone this far AU already... one has to wonder just how much farther i will go._

_Elenhin: I just love writing in surprises,so i will probably explain more about Boromir's will later. It remains to be seen if he will need it, of course.For now i must get on with cleaning up a bit and recovering fromthis year'sFestival, but hopefully i will get some more written this evening. The action will probably get going fast from here._


	51. The Fall of the House of the Stewards

Guards set Faramir's unresponsive body before the dais in the Hall of Kings at the Steward's bidding. Denethor then dismissed everyone from his presence, including the little Halfling who was terribly upset about Faramir's condition. Many had seen how the Steward wept when Faramir was brought to the Citadel and they felt for their poor, leaguered lord, as many of them had also dearly loved the Captain of the Rangers.

Denethor paced the Hall, looking from the regal statues of the Kings over to the High Throne and occasionally glancing down at Faramir, contempt written in his eyes. "Gondor's doom is decided… the end is come," he would mutter every few moments.

Someone rapped on the door, but he ignored it. Whoever it was had been fool enough to try again and Denethor roared at him to "be gone!" Denethor paced back toward Faramir's unconscious form. "You brought this on me!" he accused. "You took my son away from me. It was your fault Finduilas left me. You ensorcelled my son into going with you to that Elven madhouse and he never came back; you had them kill him as they would have killed me! Thorongil sent you to destroy me as he failed to do; I have seen though, I have seen how you stare at the Throne because you want it for yourself, only you will not have it and nor will your villain father! Do you think I do now know your plan, first to murder my only son and heir, then to wait until the hosts of Mordor have taken me down, then Thorongil will come and steal the crown, with no one left to oppose him. Just because my fool of a father allowed him to choose his assignments, he thought I would be the same fool with you, but no! I kept you far from the dealings of the City, even if you thought your 'friendship,' your _brotherhood_ with my son would get you in. I put you in Ithilien for a reason, but you proved tougher than I thought. I sent you to Osgiliath for the same reason, now it appears you did have a chink in your armor after all, and yet I am still not rid of you entirely. Knowing your kind, you will make a full recovery just as soon as everyone else has finished the work of this war. I tell you now, your line will _never_ wear the Crown! There will be no Crown, no Throne, nor a White Rod when Mordor is finished with us. I have seen Gondor's fall, I have seen more terrors than you know. The White Tree is dead, the City will burn! You had my son killed because he would have done his father's will, he would have brought me the Ring so that we could stand victorious against Mordor, but now that hope is lost! You condemned yourself, your father, and all your kind to a bitter, terrible end. The Crown should have been mine, mine is the rightful lineage! But now it is over and the only Lord left will be Sauron, for no man can stand against Mordor. But I will not let them slay me and die in the dishonor of your failing! I will go to my death before they reach me and so die with honor… and you will die with me, more to my honor that _you_ did not defeat _me_!"

For hours then Denethor stood alone in his tower chamber watching as the hosts of Mordor filed onto the Pelennor preparing to lay siege to Minas Tirith. Others were not so leisurely. In the Houses of Healing, all was in commotion and there was much discord. Master healers were berating people for their hysteria and alarm (healers having a tendency to discount any trouble in their environment and insist on a peaceful atmosphere in which to perform their skill. If the siege made it to the sixth level of the City, the orcs would simply have to perform their skill, killing, silently, and the people in the streets would simply have to die with as much silence.) Some healers disagreed vehemently on how to treat patients, whereas these men had never argued before and supported one another's work. Many were desperately trying to conserve essential supplies and set up triages in any safe places they could find.

One woman was doing all she could to go about her work tending the most recently arrived wounded men. Many of her countrymen from Dol Amroth were there and it took a resolute heart to accept that some of them were beyond anything but a last few moments that she tried to make comfortable. One man breathed the name of a loved one with his last breath as he literally died in her arms, but there was no time to spare to weep over the heart wrenching fate of any of these men, and she moved to the next stricken soldier. She gasped when she saw who it was, for he had been a dear friend to her for many years now.

"Mithrellas…" Eldor said weakly.

"My friend, what may I do?" she asked, lamenting that this loyal man should fall.

"Naught, I presume, I will either live or die as the gods have ordered it. I would be content to stay here a while longer, if we win. If not… well, I will be going to her anyway." Eldor spoke with such peace that Mithrellas knew he did not fear death.

Mithrellas had known of her best friend, Finduilas's, long relationship with the man who was, at the time, a stable boy of the Prince's household. She had known that Fin' had often sneaked away to visit him even before she knew who Denethor was, but because Finduilas had never spoken of it, nor had she. She understood that some things were to be kept as treasured secrets, even between the best of friends. She would have kept her own affair with Imrahil's herald, Falas, a secret, but that her friend had accidentally stumbled across them locked in an "embrace" many years ago. When they had returned to Dol Amroth after Finduilas was delivered of child for a second time, Mithrellas was well aware that the romance had rekindled immediately, though again she said nothing, as so too had her own.

Mithrellas was aware that Imrahil, with his ever-enduring patience, had been asking Eldor to accept a commission with his Knights for years, but that Eldor had respectfully refused each time because he would not risk being away if ever his beloved returned, and, when she had, he would not leave her for a moment. It was only after Finduilas's premature death that Eldor finally consented to ride with the Swan Knight's, aware that he could not stay in the stable anymore, not now that he knew his beautiful Finduilas would never return. That much alone had earned Eldor Mithrellas's respect, but they came to be friends after Mithrellas's lover suffered death in a skirmish. She sought him out, for he had known Falas as well as Finduilas and their friendship became a source of comfort in a time of bereavement for them.

"Mithrellas, I will keep," Eldor said quietly, "across the way there, that young Ranger needs to be tended. The Prince bid me to get him back here, I know not whom he is, but someone else was bearing him back when he was struck down as well. He must be rather important, I guess, for he wears the most intriguing cloak I have ever seen and the clasp is beautiful."

Mithrellas went to the ailing man and searched for a pulse before even attempting to push back the hood that hid his face. Finding a pulse, albeit a weak one she called for fresh water and set about removing his cloak. When she glanced up at the soldier's face she had to bite back a cry. "Hurry with that water," she called again and louder, "and fetch a healer, immediately!"

"Lady Mithrellas, what is the meaning of this disturbance? As one who has studied the art of…." Suddenly the fetched healer fell silent. "Lord Boromir! Gods… how was he overlooked? Hurry, get him to his suite!"

"My Lord," said one of the young boys in attendance, "no one has a suite at the moment, all rooms are now prepared to accommodate many."

The healer clutched at his forehead in frustration. "The Steward will hang me for this!"

"That is nothing compared to what he will do if you allow his heir to perish because you are too particular about where he is healed," Mithrellas said sharply. "He does not appear to be bleeding. He needs water though, fast, and to be wakened."

Night fell over the City, though the fact was only marked because there was now even less light than usual. It was as though a constant storm was hovering, but had not yet broken, and all were tense. Several times had messengers been sent to the Steward to tell him that his son was being treated in the Houses, but after the first messenger was sent away without even being able to speak, Denethor answered no further calls.

A new day came, though no hope came with it. The siege had begun; though it was yet as cruel taunting and intimidation, not all out war. Between them, Gandalf and Imrahil managed to keep the soldiers in rank, though it was no easy task. Imrahil was unusually livid with his brother-in-law that he would dare to neglect his charge and leave this duty to him. He had heard that the Steward still had not come down from the Tower and nor would he answer anyone's call. Imrahil was starting to regret deeply leaving Faramir in his care. For years, ever since Finduilas's death, he had wondered at whom this "Faramir" was, how he had been taken away from his sister and why. Now to lose another precious link to his sister before he even got to know him was unconscionable.

By evening, the battle had begun in earnest. Siege engines of war filled the Pelennor with the obvious purpose of breaking and scaling the many strong walls of Minas Tirith. It was the most frightening thing any of the people of Minas Tirith had ever lived through. Battles had always been unsettling, yes, but they were fought far off, away from home. Now, though, it was home that was being attacked, en masse. Even the most optimistic did not have any delusions about this, their men would exhaust, and even if the city could not be physically broken, it was only a matter of time before it was overrun. Moreover, there was no way out. They were trapped, cornered with their backs against the mountain out of which Minas Tirith looked to be carved.

In the early hours of the night, the fight took a turn for the worse as the Gates of the City were assaulted. Denethor watched from the top of the Tower as his worst nightmares were happening before him. Quickly he went down into the Hall of Kings and opened the door but slightly, ordering four nearby Guards to come and bear Faramir to the Silent Street. Guards stationed about the Tower in those days were only ones who had proven themselves unquestioningly loyal to Denethor, the slightest hesitation to carry out an order was cause for demotion in the Steward's eyes. The four men lifted the Captain of the Rangers on the bier and heard him moan very softly, but none said anything nor showed reluctance to bear him to Rath Dinen as their Lord led them.

Pippin saw the procession making its way to the Closed Door, which Gandalf had pointed out when they first arrived in the City, and in his concern and ever-present curiosity, followed them. Pippin also heard a faint groan from Strider's son and realized that the Steward must have presumed him dead. "My Lord!" Pippin cried out to stop them.

Denethor stopped but instructed the Guards to go ahead of him with Faramir and to build a pyre.

"A pyre?" Pippin cried. "But you cannot, he is alive!"

The fey look about Denethor did not tolerate challenge. "You are no longer in my service, Halfling. Get thee gone from my sight!" There was a gleam in Denethor's eyes that frightened the Hobbit, and Pippin turned and fled. There was only one thing he could think to do: find Gandalf, fast.

Find Gandalf, he did. The Wizard was holding off Nazgûl from the Gates but when he heard from Pippin of the extent of Denethor's madness, he knew that the Wraiths would just have to hold themselves off, just at the moment he had a madman to deal with. It caused Gandalf to wonder as he raced through the streets with Pippin, the power of Mordor was so pervasive that orcs needn't break the Gates to cause great disaster. Though Gandalf was aware that certain powers had been at work within the Citadel for a long time, and there was little difference between what had happened in Edoras and what was happening in Minas Tirith.

Beregond was not found guarding the Citadel gates and the keeper of the key to the Closed Door was found slain at his post. Gandalf's fear grew and they went quickly to find that two others had been slain and two more bearing torches stood against Beregond who knew that Faramir lived and would not allow them past, not even at Denethor's order. The Steward could be heard within demanding that his Guards make haste, ordering them to "slay the renegade" if need be. Denethor himself pulled open the door and stood there, a fearsome sight, his eyes alight with a fire of madness, wielding his sword in his wrath.

For as fearsome as Denethor stood, the Guards actually fell back when Gandalf stood forth, for now his anger had been stirred and he was in no mood for shrouding his quintessential power. The visage of a worn old man remained, but the brightness that emanated from the Wizard left no doubt of the scope of his might. Gandalf raised his hand with a commanding thrust and the sword Denethor brandished flew from his grasp. Even Denethor backed away from this strength of power, though Gandalf was rueful to have to spend it in knocking some sense into the Steward when it should have been making itself useful against the powers of Mordor. Gandalf swiftly lifted Faramir from the pyre, holding him with ease as he once did the babe who swatted at his beard, causing them both delight.

There followed what Gandalf would later refer to as the worst and most untimely waste of time in the history of Mortal Man. Denethor's madness was more obviously than ever as he argued that he should be allowed to take his "son" into death with him, time and time again referring to Faramir as his "son." Boromir and Faramir were similar enough in appearance for many to take them for brothers and now it seemed that Denethor did not know them apart, for Denethor never once said the name of Faramir. He raved in lunacy about burning and ash and wept believing he heard his beloved son calling him.

Gandalf looked upon the proud man and saw him as utterly broken, his will defeated by Sauron and in a moment of pity, Gandalf encouraged Denethor to stand where he belonged, with his men, against the power of Mordor. However, at once, Denethor was all over fey madness again. Denethor laughed at Gandalf's efforts and fetched the palantír, holding it aloft as the orb came to life in his hands, and advising all who would not fall under Sauron's thrall to flee the fight.

Gandalf recognized such advice as truly the work of the Enemy and he could see plainly just how deep into Denethor's mind and will Sauron had been able to delve; subtle, oh, very subtle, but deadlier than any poison. Denethor claimed to have done the impossible, to have seen into Gandalf's hopes and mind, and he accused him of intending to set up pawn kingdoms, from which he himself would ultimately rule. He knew of the coming of Aragorn, apparently he had seen and recognized Thorongil, and, in his mind, that proved that it had been their design to steal the Throne of Gondor from its rightful House of Anórien protectors. Denethor then drew a dagger and, keeping the Seeing Stone safely under his arm, he lunged toward Faramir, only to be stopped by Beregond. Denied yet again a chance at Faramir's life, Denethor, in naught but his last possibility of defiance, commanded those last loyal men to come forth and he took the torch before Gandalf could stop him again and ran into the House of Stewards, putting himself upon the pyre, breaking the staff of his Stewardship, and clutching the palantír to him.

Gandalf and Beregond, still in shock, lifted Faramir and bore him away toward the Houses, when they heard a cracking and looked to see the House of the Stewards collapse, and at last the two Guards who had been rooted to the spot in horror of their beloved Lord's fate fled to Gandalf. They took him into the Houses, though even Gandalf did not pretend to believe that Faramir would recover. It seemed to him that Denethor might well get his wish yet, for he knew that if Faramir did not survive, it would utterly destroy Aragorn.

ooo

_steelelf: Was that last one a little too much of the old cliffhanger for you? Well, at least it's not so bad this time around. Ah, but i seem to be going a bit sarcastic again. You will have to pardon that, it's just that there's been this giant hedgehog following me around and... _

_Elenhin: I more than understand being pressed for time. Sometimes it seems if i am any more pressed for time i will become juice, or least some manner of essential oil. I am grateful that you do take the time to read and enjoy, though, and always extremely grateful for your reviews. I don't know if they are visible in your part of the world or how the weather will react, but may i recommend having a look for the Perseids this Friday night? If you are in a dark enough area, it should bea good show._

_linda: I do kind of enjoy combining both book and movie, since some of the scenes from the films are just so vivid. I don't know about anyone else, but there were some things that, when i saw them on film, i about flipped because they were EXACTLY as i had seen them in my mind's eye when i read all those years ago, particularly Gollum. Still i rely very heavily on the books for reference. I have a copy of Return of the King sitting right beside me :)_


	52. The Houses of Healing

"Mumma…." The man moaned, waking to a degree but still very dazed. Someone was next to him, he could not quite make out whom, but he got the sense that it was his mother.

"Easy," soothed a woman's gentle voice. "Drink up now, you will feel better."

Boromir felt a cup being pressed into his hand and was able to hold it, but he did not bring it to his lips. He felt too weak to sit upright under his own power and his mind felt so strangely blurred.

"You need to drink," the woman persisted. She moved closer, hugging him to her and lifting him as he put to cup to his lips and tipped it. Now that he was awake, he was able to take drink and eat if with assistance and she immediately called for whatever could be spared. A young lad came in and gave her a handful of berries. "Bergil," she said in surprise, "are you certain these can be spared?"

The boy nodded and said, "Yes, Lady Mithrellas. There are still many needing help, but… too few can take any sustenance. I was told to give these only to men who…."

"Aye, I know, lad," she said softly. "I daresay his Lordship will be able to return to his own chambers soon, a better way of clearing space for another wounded man than the other way."

The Houses of Healing were becoming lately and quickly less Houses of Healing as much as Houses of Dying. Many a man was brought to them out of the vain hope of a terrified brother or son, sister or mother. Healers and nurses had no real idea what was going on beyond their walls, when someone was brought to them the only thing that was important was the patient's condition. They had heard that the city was under heavy siege and being, literally, broken bit by bit. Many women were being brought to them for injuries sustained from falling walls and such. More than one expectant mother was in premature labor induced by sheer terror. All was in chaos.

Mithrellas was "assigned" to take care of Boromir. Had it been anyone else she would have protested vehemently that rank no longer mattered and there were many others who needed the care of a knowledgeable nurse. Never had she been able to see her best friend's son as merely his rank or title though. Mithrellas remembered holding her friend's newborn boy before he was taken to his father; it had not been so many years before that she had lost a child that she had carried. She remembered returning to Minas Tirith from Dol Amroth after her father's death and being greeted by a miniature soldier of Gondor of four years. She remembered the little one clinging to her skirts for dear life when she took him to the Houses of Healing when Finduilas gave birth for a second time. She remembered watching the happy young boy playing on the beach with his uncle, gradually growing into a young man, fun-loving and handsome, and training with his uncle's men. Mithrellas felt like it was her own son leaving the day Boromir decided he would return to Minas Tirith.

Ever since losing her own child Mithrellas had a tendency to be sharp-tongued with those who she perceived as acting in a superior manner. It had not been much of a problem in Dol Amorth, but she and Denethor had clashed constantly. If she had not been dear to Finduilas she would have likely ended up exiled from Minas Tirith, or more. Mithrellas still firmly believed that her father had forced the hand of the physician who was looking after her pregnancy into giving her a strong dosage of pennyroyal before her condition became too noticeable, though it had very nearly killed her as well. Falas, Imrahil's herald, had even been courageous enough to go to her father and explain that he had intended to ask him for her hand all along and had no notion of turning coward now, but he had been refused her hand, as well as any further contact with her.

Much had changed for all involved when they returned to Dol Amroth in Boromir's fifth year. Her father was gone, she was reunited with Falas, and she allowed her heart to once again soften and heal. The real turning point came, though, when both Finduilas and Falas had died within two years time. Boromir was ten years old when his mother died, old enough to be expected to bear up, but too young really to be able to do so, and many nights Mithrellas held him as the boy cried himself to sleep. She held him then just as she did now, brushing stray hair back from his paled features, and kissing the temple of one too young for such terror, or so 70 years of life had made her think.

"Mumma 'Rell," Boromir said in a weak voice, drawing her attention back. "What happened to me? Where am i?"

"We are in the Houses of Healing, child. I think, though, now that you are awake, you should be taken to your own chambers. It will be safer there and we need more space here."

"Why do I feel so strange, so restless and weak?" Boromir asked.

"Keep drinking, Bori', you were without water for some days," Mithrellas explained and instructed at once.

"Done without before…," he muttered ineffectively.

Mithrellas called Bergil again and together they helped the soldier to his feet and went to the street, looking out cautiously and calling softly for the gates of the Citadel to be opened. Boromir was still weak and dazed and it took both the woman and the boy to support his weight and get him to move as quickly as possible to the tunnel. They took their time from there and when they emerged, a couple of Guards came to help. Bergil was sent back to the Houses while Mithrellas went with Boromir to get him settled into his chambers and make sure he would have someone to keep him drinking, frequently, now that he was conscious. As they crossed the lawn by the fountain, she chanced a look back over the Pelennor and dearly wished she had not. It was filled with the black filth of Mordor. Smoke was rising from down toward the Silent Street. She feared that even the Citadel would not be a safe place in this terrible war, but just then, she saw horses, riders, coming over the northeast ridge. The green banners of Rohan were evident and she was again filled with hope, hurrying on with the Guards towards Boromir's chambers.

ooo

It was only a moment after Mithrellas and Bergil had gotten Boromir beyond the Citadel gates that Gandalf and Beregond came to the Houses, bearing Faramir between them. Beds in the Houses were being reserved for those most seriously ill and Faramir was taken to one right away. A nurse stood before the door to the room insisting that they could not bring a _man_ into _that_ room, even though the other nurses of the House were less than worried about the traditionally off-limits birthing chambers being converted for soldiers.

"My lady," Gandalf said, seriously beginning to lose his patience, "is there a woman giving birth in there at this moment?"

"No, sir, but -"

"Then stand aside!" Gandalf practically shouted, causing the woman to jump. She, indeed, moved off quickly enough. "I regret deeply, Faramir, that I shall have to leave you in the care of _these_ people for now, but the battle must be joined and I should have been out on that field some time ago." Gandalf knew that his old friend's son could not hear him, but he needed to vent that frustration anyway. "Come, Beregond."

As soon as Mithrellas returned to the Houses she set back to work. Within just a few moments, Bergil found her, telling her that his father had brought in a soldier who was seriously ill. She went with the boy and started out by getting him cleaned up as much as she could. He was running a terrible fever and she set a cold cloth on his forehead as she worked. The young man was covered in some kind of oily substance and she had no desire to know what that meant. "Do we know this one's name?" Mithrellas asked Bergil. She made it a point to try to know the names of the soldiers she cared for, it was a small courtesy and, hopefully, a comfort to them that she could call them by their names when, if, they woke.

"Master Gandalf called him Faramir, my lady, and I think my father knew him," Bergil replied.

Mithrellas dropped the cloth in her hand and stood still, her eyes and mouth wide. Oh, she saw it now, just how alike this man looked to Boromir, to Finduilas… to Thorongil, if memory served her right.

"Are you all right," Bergil asked in concern for the aging lady.

"Aye, child, aye," she said very softly, resuming her work. "After all these years…" she breathed in amazement.

ooo

The day had been long, arduous, and agonizing for everyone. Aragorn looked around him… this was what he was suppose to inherit? He picked his way around orc carcasses and the fallen dead of his own kin. He had heard that Théoden had fallen and, unfortunately, had seen Halbarad go down with his own eyes. How many others would he never seen again? He tried to keep from looking too long at the fallen around him; he was trying to get toward the Gates where everyone else was grouping.

Someone had the decency to begin setting up a pavilion outside the city and Aragorn was immensely thankful. He needed counsel with Gandalf and whoever else remained of his companions and then he needed sleep. Had Aragorn not stolen that several hours nap as the sailed up the Anduin the day before he would not have been able to talk to them at all. As it was, it was his only hope that he could just lay down and sleep the rest of the night, let Denethor invite him in on the morrow, if he did not recognize him at once.

Imrahil agreed with Aragorn that it would be wisest to wait until Denethor had extended the invitation, as he knew how Denethor had hated Thorongil so. Éomer, however, could not understand that Aragorn, who he knew had already made the decision to take up his birthright, would rather wait until a lesser man acknowledged him. However, Aragorn knew the cautious route needed to be taken until the War was won, not just the battle.

Éomer turned away from him in frustration, trying to keep his cool but having a very difficult time of it. The afternoon had gone particularly ill for him. He had lost his uncle and King and his sister, though he would not speak of this, for he knew that others had suffered losses as well. Imrahil decided to stay by Éomer and engage him in something useful: he intended to introduce him to the Steward of Gondor and together they would announce a "Captain of the Rangers" who awaited without the Gates.

In the meantime, Aragorn took from his brow the Star of the North Kingdom and gave it back into the keeping of Elrohir, who was still shaken and afraid, for he had not seen his mirror image since midday. Aragorn had just lain down to rest his weary head, arms, legs, everything, in short, when who was suddenly standing over him but the wily old Wizard who Aragorn had threatened to seriously injure since he had not caught sight of the old codger on the battlefield for even a moment that day.

"And where, if I may ask, have you been this day, of all days?" Aragorn asked with not a small amount of bitterness in his tone.

"Saving your son's life, which, may I add, is still suspended by just the merest of threads," Gandalf replied meaningfully.

"Faramir?" Aragorn said alarmed, on his feet again in a flash. Only just then had he realized that he had not seen Faramir at all that day either. "Where is my son?"

"In the Houses of Healing, and we must go quickly, for there are others in need of your hand, but Faramir's need is most urgent," Gandalf said tossing Aragorn's Lórien cloak at him.

Gandalf explained to Aragorn in quiet tone as they went what had happened at the Hallows. Had he not been in terror for his precious son's life, Aragorn knew he would have had to been restrained from relieving the Steward of his corrupted heart with his bare hands, and he said as much to Gandalf, mostly as a warning to keep him steered clear.

"In case you did not hear me, Estel, I told you that Denethor put himself upon the pyre when Beregond stopped him going after your son," Gandalf reiterated.

"Aye, but… well, I presumed he'd been pulled away before…." Aragorn realized that Denethor had ended his own life in the Hallows. "I wish I could say that that news grieves me. It does not. If my son does not survive…."

"Estel, you might also wish to know that now that Denethor is gone, some are calling Faramir the Steward. Boromir's last written word left Faramir as his heir; it was dated the day before they set out for Imladris. It may also be of interest to you that Boromir was not _departed_ when he departed you at Amon Hen."

Well, that confirmed it to Aragorn, Denethor's madness was catching and here was Gandalf as proof. "Boromir was most assuredly not living, Gandalf. The man had no pulse; do think I would not have checked? And what is this about Faramir being called Steward?"

"His pulse was made dangerously faint by the poison of orc's arrows, there is no blame in your action," Gandalf explained. "He was alive and with Faramir when he came to Osgiliath, but somehow he fell behind as they were coming back to the City and has not been seen since. Now then, if you promise not to interrupt me again, I shall tell you that Faramir indeed delivered the Ring back into its proper bearer's hands."

"Maybe, just maybe, you could have somehow, someway imparted this to me sooner?" Aragorn said in relief, but also annoyance. Outside the Houses they were met by Imrahil and Éomer and Aragorn was glad that neither immediately recognized him for his cloak. He asked Imrahil to take command of the City until Faramir was able to, though Aragorn still could not believe that Boromir had actually willed his inheritance to him. It was agreed, however, among the four of them that Gandalf would ultimately be the leader of them all.

Before walking into the Houses, Aragorn glanced up into the sky, which was filled with stars for the first time in days. "_Le nallon sí di-nguruthos, a tiro nin, Fanuilos_!" he begged.

ooo

_Le nallon sí di-nguruthos, a tiro nin, Fanuilos - I cry to thee nowbeneath the shadow of death, o look toward me, Fanuilos (literally Everwhite, aka Elbereth)_

_linda: Thank you, i was hoping that Denethor's mad raving would be interesting. _

_Elenhin: Yes, i did find Boromir, but not everyone else has yet. Right now he is doing pretty well, considering, but much remains to be seen. Eldor did return and a few others should be making themselves known again next chapter. Did you get a chance to check out the skies on Friday night? I had a great time of it, remind me to tell you all about it._

_AM: As i said to linda, i did hope that inside look at Denethor would be interesting. Writing madness can be pretty fun :)_

_Coming up next iseveryone's favorite Houses of Healing scene. I have written this scene a few times now. I don't want to change it, per se, but it is not easy to write it in mainly book-verse every time. Ah, i shall have to come with something to hold everyone's attention though :)_


	53. Mor i Galad

Boromir felt weak. He hated feeling weak. "What is going on out there?" Boromir grumbled sleepily. He was still only just aware of his surroundings, and not feeling much up to delving into any memories that might give him a clue to anything beyond his own comfortable bed. He wanted peace and quiet because straining to hear things going on outside meant straining to think what those things he heard were and why whatever was happening… was happening.

"My Lord, please rest easy. You ought not to be so agitated," said a young girl with a Lossarnachian accent who was obviously no one to be telling someone else not to be agitated while she herself was in every respect petrified. She brought him another cup of water and after drinking it down Boromir was beginning to think straight again.

"All right, now tell me what is going on out there?" he said.

She looked at him for a moment as if trying to figure out how to tell this man the truth (one did not speak lies to the son of the Steward) without telling him the truth (if he knew he would leave the bed and be on the field in an instant, and she had been instructed to make sure he stayed where he was). "There's… a skirmish, my lord," she said, hoping she downplayed that enough.

Boromir stirred as if he would get up and go have a look for himself, but then he stilled and lay quiet for a while. No, that was no _skirmish_. He was remembering things now. He'd been in Osgiliath with Faramir, there was to be a fight, and though he was not feeling all that primed he meant to fight his heart out, or rather fight his heart _back_… his _honor_ back. And more than that, he remembered very clearly why he needed to regain his honor. Boromir turned over and closed his eyes in resignation. After some while, he looked back over to the frightened girl. "I am in pain, is there not something you can fetch me?" There was pain in his eyes, that much was sure. "Yew extract, have you?" Boromir was fairly certain that this young serving girl would not know how lethal Yew was. He himself had only learned it when Faramir told him that Elves made bows of Yew because of its symbolic deadly quality.

The girl nodded and hurried to do as bid. She returned with a large phial of liquid, which Boromir asked her to leave by the bedside. "Thank you," he said quietly and sincerely. "You needn't stay with me. I see I've done some injury to my ankle because I can not move it without pain, so I do not think I shall be going anywhere. Why do you not go on to the Houses? I am sure they need all the help they can get and now that I have my wits about me I can take care of myself." He paused for a moment then asked, "Where is my father?"

"I know not, my lord, I've not seen the Steward since yesterday," she said.

Boromir sighed and said, "if you see him, ask him to come to see me, if he is able. If not, just tell him… that I love him."

The girl nodded reverently and left the room. Boromir picked up the glass bottle and held it for a while. Pulling out the cork he breathed in the vapor, finding it both flower- and wood-like, but with a very unpleasant tinge to it, sour and acid. Mustering his will he drank the fluid down in full. He lay back, telling himself that he would not cry for help, nor whimper in fear when the darkness closed in. He had no idea how this stuff would affect him and he was determined to ride out whatever pain there was, but he hoped that it would be quick about it.

He lay still for a while, wondering if his father would come to him. Denethor was likely in the middle of the battle, Boromir knew, but he hoped against hope that the girl would be able to impart his message somehow.

Boromir thought of many things, of the young Hobbit who looked up to him, not just because the little fellow was half his size, and had shown him such kindness when he felt lost and overwhelmed in Rivendell. He thought of how Frodo had seemed wary of him all along. It made him wonder that such a simple people as Hobbits were they could see right through to the heart of a person with such ease. Pippin had seen past his bluff, soldier's exterior to the heart of him that was happiest when he was protecting those weaker than himself. Frodo, however, and likely because of the Ring, had seen the heart of him that desired the power to protect more of those defenseless people and to see glory restored, whatever the cost, the side of him that insisted good enough was _never_ enough for Gondor. That he did get from his father, despite spending his most formative years in Dol Amroth.

'Whatever the cost,' he thought to himself. Only now was he seeing that the price of taking the Ring in hopes of saving Gondor had been his integrity. He had broken his word, an oath he had sworn, that he would protect Frodo as long as their roads were together. Oh, but if only that was all he had done. He knew he had injured the Hobbit when he took the Ring, how badly he did not know, for apparently he was able to carry on and had come to Faramir in Ithilien to retrieve the Ring.

Faramir, yet another reason for him to detest himself, he had failed him most of all, the little brother that he had wanted for as long as he could remember. He had sworn to Faramir that he would take care of himself, that he had clearly failed to do or he would not have fallen under the curse of the Ring, so he thought.

He also swore that he would look out for Faramir's father. He had tried to do that in the beginning, but after Faramir parted from them at Tharbad Aragorn had withdrawn somewhat and became rather unapproachable. Boromir could not help but resent this behavior in the one who he knew was the heir to the Throne of Gondor. A powerful leader he could respect, but not this grim and sullen Ranger who led, and led well, but did it grudgingly.

Now, though, he lay in his bed feeling himself grow sleepy and was thankful that he might die not as painfully as he thought after all. He wondered now who he was to question the man destined to wear the Crown; after all, Aragorn obviously had infinitely more honor than he himself had. Now he hated himself vehemently for failing the one man he should have been most loyal to. Suddenly he hoped that this father would not have a chance to come to him, as he realized that this "easy way out" was to be his final dishonor. What had made him take that stuff? All of his life, since his mother's death, he had dreaded the thought of dying young in his own bed; if he was to die early he wanted it to be on the field of honor, not like some craven coward.

"I am sorry, Faramir, to have failed you and your father so, and I am sorry to you, father, that I lost the honor you prized so in me and brought our House to disrepute," Boromir whispered to the air as he succumbed to the blackness. His one comfort was that he knew the scale of the War being waged and he knew that there was incredibly little chance that anyone would survive to know of his final weakening anyhow.

ooo

Aragorn walked through the Houses, his hood still up and his grey cloak pulled tight about him. He did not want anyone to see or know him yet, for he knew that the time was not right for him to be in this City again. Yet, when Gandalf had told him that Faramir was stricken and growing nearer to death all the time, Aragorn practically ran through the streets. Pippin had greeted him at the door to the Houses of Healing with such trust and confidence that it gave Aragorn some measure of hopefulness.

As he walked through the place being led by Gandalf, that hope diminished. Every room was filled with injured men, they were grouped according to their condition: those of gravest condition were in beds, some two to a bed, three in the case of children, mostly because it was easier to lift a dead body from a bed than up off the floor; those in less severe condition were taken to lay upon "mattresses" on the floors of every room that could be spared; anyone who was in merely serious condition was seated against the walls in the hallways.

Aragorn was led passed the room where Merry had been brought andit tore at him to see this brave little one suffering so. A bit on down the hall, Gandalf pointed out to him the room occupied by Éowyn. It startled him that she was here, Éomer had said nothing of his sister's injury, let alone that she had come with them. Aragorn turned to Éomer in question, but he preempted him, saying, "I know I am suppose to be…," Aragorn read and understood that pause, the words sticking in Eomer's throat much as similar words had often stuck in his own throat, "King of Rohan… but I also know that there are others here besides myself." Aragorn clapped a hand to his shoulder and nodded in silent thanks as Éomer left them to go to his ailing sister.

It was when Gandalf finally led him into Faramir's room that his heart dropped out of him. His son lay there looking as if he was already gone. A woman was sitting beside him continually bathing his face with cool water and Aragorn gently took to the cloth from her hand, his cloak now removed, and said softly, "he is my son."

He need not have told her that though, Mithrellas remembered clearly the Ranger who had helped her best friend get through the delivery and, next thing she knew, both the Ranger and the baby were gone. She knew why, for her friend had confided in her and she kept the secret all these years.

There were others there, another woman and an elder nurse, and a young boy. These people were all here attending his son, Aragorn thought, when there were so many others out there. He was sure it had something to do with this rumor that Boromir had named Faramir his heir in his last written statement before they left for Imladris.

For Aragorn it took all of his rapidly flagging will first to ignore those about him, including Gandalf and Imrahil, who had gone surprisingly still when he heard Aragorn say to Mithrellas that Faramir was his son, and second to not grasp his son and weep until he exhausted himself even further. For years, Elrond had been telling him that he had this ability and had been instructing in how he could literally passing his strength to another. Instructing only, not practicing, for it was danger to try it unless the patient was but a hair's breadth from death already. The only sign of life at all that Aragorn could discern in his son was his raging fever. How, Aragorn questioned himself, could he ever have enough strength after that battle to bring back his beloved son?

He was terrified, utterly terrified, of failing this time, when his son most needed him. He was already more than exhausted and felt that he had no strength left. He would need athelas for this and turned to the eldest woman, asking her if there was any kept in store. As he stood by listening to her prattle on as his son lay dying and his exhaustion was making him a bit irritable. At least he was not the only one, for Gandalf backed up his order to make haste in fetching some athelas, threatening that Shadowfax would "show her the meaning the haste." That seemed to startle the old woman into action and Aragorn then asked the other two ladies to boil water as he looked at the wound that had reportedly taken his son down as he rode back from Osgiliath.

The wound was healing well, but that did not hearten Aragorn, just the opposite, for now he knew that this was the work of the Black Breath, combined with some deep-rooted grief. Yet he was intensely proud of Faramir. Gandalf had said that Faramir rode back out to Osgiliath in honor of Boromir, moreover, Aragorn knew that a lesser man would never have lasted so long serving in Ithilien, living practically directly under the encroaching Shadow of Mordor.

Finally, the senior herb-master of the Houses came along and Aragorn was again treated to a history discourse on kingsfoil, athelas, asëa anarion…. It only served to make the Ranger wearier yet and, seeing this, Gandalf shouted at the old healer to find someone wiser who kept the stuff. More than anything, Aragorn just felt like crying and yet he couldn't do it. So often he felt as if he'd lost the art of feeling since leaving Imladris at 20, Elves never stared at, felt uncomfortable around, or made to feel uncomfortable anyone who shed tears, but it was not so in the world of Men.

"Oh, father, where are you now?" Aragorn murmured under his breath. Shutting out everything but Faramir, even his own heartbreak, Aragorn took his son's limp hand in his and grasped gently but urgently, laying his other hand on Faramir's brow. He concentrated deeply; closing his eyes he began to call to his son, audibly at first, then softer and softer, seeking a mental connection and trying to "feel" his way to his son.

Aragorn found himself in a dark vale, alone and shivering, fear stole upon him but he forced himself to stay strong. "Faramir!" he called, over and over. It felt like he had walked there for an hour and weariness was heavy on him when he stopped and sat under a tree, which was not green, but black and foreboding. "Faramir," he said again, this time more of a sob than a call, "please do not leave me again, my son." Aragorn now began to lose all hope. A black fog began to rise and the very scent of the vapor was as tangible despair. He stood again and continued walking, calling Faramir, though as he walked the black fog grew thicker about him, so much so that it seemed to deaden his cries almost as they left his mouth. Aragorn no longer had any hope of even seeing a path before him and again he sat down, in the middle of the "road" for all he could tell. He lay down then, trying to avoid breathing the fog that was choking him, stealing his breath in his throat. He could feel his will to live diminish as the fog became thicker, closing over him and suffocating him.

Those in the room looked on in utter horror as Aragorn's countenance became noticeably grey. Gandalf reached out and put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, trying to get him to stop before both father and son ended up dead, but Aragorn did not react to the touch at all.

Aragorn lay prepared to die when he heard a very distant voice; he could only just make out the words spoken in Sindarin. "Seek not the mind, but the _heart_,"pressed a wise voice. It took Aragorn a moment to understand, but then he heard the voice again, louder this time, saying, "_tolo dan na ngalad_!"

"Heart," Aragorn whispered to himself in what seemed to be a dying breath. Suddenly he understood though and now concentrated all his will upon seeking not a mental connection with his nearly lost son, but an emotional one, the same connection that they had all along and had shared since his very birth. Now he felt the air stir and the fog driven back from him. He rose again and shouted again for his son, he called louder each time, knowing now that he was heading in the right direction.

Off in the distance he could hear Faramir calling for him as well and he began to run toward the sound of his son's cries and... the quacking of a baby duck? The faster he ran the faster the evil fog fell away and soon he saw Faramir up ahead, running toward him as well. They met in a tight and strong embrace. "I knew you had come, father, when I felt an acorn fall on my shoulder," Faramir said through his tears. "Take me home, please, adar!"

Just then, Bergil came running back into the room with a handful of dry athelas leaves. Gandalf feared that it would be for naught now, and he was certain that Aragorn could not be pulled out of his trance now, certainly not be a Mortal child. But when the boy held the leaves toward the strangely clad Ranger, saying that he hoped that what he was able to find would be enough to help, Aragorn turned, with a smile, as if he had been with them all along, and bid the boy to stay and be comforted, for the worst was over now and he hoped that as many as possible would benefit from the aroma of the athelas.

Taking the leaves, Aragorn was comfortable enough with the procedure from there and he let the natural vapor fill the room with an air of cleanliness and wellness. Aragorn was endlessly thankful for the strength it lent him and he held the bowl near enough for Faramir to breathe in. In but a moment, Faramir revived and saw his father beside him and love shown brightly in his eyes. Faramir was also now aware of those around them and, with his thought as quick as ever, professed his faith in his father, saying, "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?"

ooo

_tolo dan na ngalad - come back to the light._

_linda: I too feel sorry for weary Aragorn, i totally understand him! I do so hope that this modest verison was up to your standards. _

_steelelf: Thank you kindly!_

_Elenhin: Sorry to hear about the rain, but do not fret, the Perseids come every year, without fail. I have to say that it has been so hot and dry here that i am ecstatic every time the crows say "rain!" I did indeed find Boromir, but what has become of him now i shall not say... yet. I have not yet found Elladan either, and that shall have to wait until the next chapter as well. For now, though, sleep is needed if i am to write anything coherent any time soon._


	54. The Needs of Many

The three most serious cases were taken care of. Aragorn had put most of his energy into reviving his son and, the Valar be praised, Faramir was awake again and doing well now that he was out of the black valley of desolation. Aragorn had promised him that he would be back as soon as he could, but that he had to make haste to help others. Faramir, of course, understood, he was really just glad to be with his father again, and both well, considering the circumstances.

Aragorn then went on to help Éowyn. Her case was not as desperate as Faramir's, and he was thankful that he did not need to go so deep into his own energy reserves again. The athelas helped, but it could only do so much. Aragorn did what he could for Eowyn, then put her hand into Eomer's and let him complete the task as he slipped out of the room unnoticed and went on to Merry. Either Aragorn was getting better at this new skill every time or the circumstances were getting less critical, for Merry woke almost at once.

Aragorn was starting to lean on Gandalf by the time he emerged from the room Merry had been given. He could feel himself falling asleep on his feet and was fighting to stay awake. He did not feel it would be right to sleep in the City, even though apparently his son was now officially considered to be Steward of Gondor (it was going to take some doing to straighten that out and find out if it was acceptable, if Faramir even wanted the office). It was why he had asked Imrahil to be in charge of Minas Tirith until such things could be dealt with. Just now Faramir needed good, sound rest even more than he himself did.

"Estel?" Elrohir called from another corridor that branched off the main hall.

"Elrohir," Aragorn responded, walking toward his brother and trying not to trip over anyone in the hall. "Have you had any luck?" he said, resting his hand on Elrohir's shoulder, plainly to keep himself upright.

"No, Estel," Elrohir said, his voice thick with emotion. He wanted to tell his little brother that everything would be all right, that he would help him back down to the pavilion where he should sleep, but he could not do it. The pain of the possibility of losing his twin was overriding all his other senses. It was as it had been when nana had to go West, only now he did not have his brother to turn to, and nor was there the assurance that at least this was not death, but just a passing farewell. This pain was evident in everything from the mournful look in Elrohir's eyes, to the way it seemed to add to his pain just breathing. Aragorn knew he was fighting back tears until he was sure of what had happened.

"I looked about the field, but I saw no sign of him, and someone said that I might come here, if he was injured…." Speaking was clearly difficult for the twin Peredhel. If he talked too much about this the tears would spill and then there would be no stopping them.

"I've not seen him here," Aragorn said, "though I have not been here long and not seen many other than Faramir and -"

"How is he, Estel? Or do not tell me if we shall only lose yet another," Elrohir said quietly.

Aragorn now rested his other hand on his brother's shoulder, this time in a gesture of comfort. "Would I be standing here now if I were to lose my son?"

Elrohir shook his head. "I guess not, I just no longer know…." Elrohir glanced up and was now looking intently down to the other end of the hall. There was a healer there, speaking with the wounded and offering them water, in the uniform robes of the healers of Minas Tirith with long dark hair swept back. Elrohir just stared for a moment before almost literally flying down the hall, leaping over injured soldiers as he went. He swooped down upon the healer, throwing him to the wall and pinning him there by his shoulders. Elrohir was absolutely seething.

"_Tenya awra_!" Elladan cried.

Elrohir laughed shortly. "_Ed' i'ear ar' elenea_! _Mani na lle umien_? _Mankoi na lle sinome?_"

"_Daro_!" Aragorn cried, interceding between his brothers quickly. For as fiercely as they loved one another, their fights could rival and sometimes even out do Glorfindel and Erestor's shouting matches. "This is supposed to be a place of convalescence, if you have to argue, do it outside."

"I came here to help," Elladan said lowly. "If you came just to create further upset then leave."

"I thought I lost you! You could have let me know, we have always fought side by side, for 2000 years," Elrohir continued, not lowering his tone.

"_Daro hi_!" Aragorn reiterated. He needed sleep, not a pair of squabbling half-Elven twins.

"Estel, you look terrible, are you injured?" Elladan said, immediately dropping his argument with his twin when he saw how exhausted his little brother was.

"No, I am not. I am fine, 'Dan, I am just exhausted," Aragorn insisted, though he was relieved to be drawing the attention away from the row.

"Exhausted is not _fine_, little Ranger. What would ada say? Come on, I will give you some tea and you shall sleep for a while." Elladan tried to usher Aragorn off to a comfortable place, but his little brother resisted.

"I have a pavilion outside the gates that I was on my way to with…. Where is Gandalf gone off to now?" he said looking around in sleepy confusion.

"No, no pavilion, a bed for you," Elladan said.

"I wouldn't be comfortable," Aragorn argued weakly. "Will you go look in on Fara', 'Dan? Tell him I promise I will be up to see him in the morning."

"Faramir? What is the matter with him? Is he here?" Elladan asked, startled.

"Yes. He is much better now, but he was nearer to death than I was comfortable with when I got here. And yes, he is in that room…," Aragorn paused, just now realizing what room that was, "the room he was born in," he finished quietly.

"Valar! If I knew that I would have been with him immediately!" Elladan was already moving off toward his nephew when he turned back to Elrohir and said, "I am sorry I worried you, but I had to come here."

Elrohir gave him a sour, but understanding, look. "You are getting more and more like ada every day. Come on, little brother; let us get you to some sleep." He put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, but Aragorn was already looking around at all the wounded who needed help. Elrohir sighed, knowing what that meant. "And you are worse than ada. I will get you some lembas, and I think I have some miruvor left. Work until you are satisfied, but then you swear to sleep, understand me?"

Aragorn almost gave his word, but he was cut off by an agonized cry from a woman elsewhere in the Houses. They hurried to her and found the other younger woman who had been in Faramir's room was kneeling beside a young Ranger. She held him close to her and stroked his hair. Only now did Aragorn recognize her as the woman who had helped him and fed Faramir as they fled Gondor many years ago.

"Damrod…," she whispered urgently to her son, begging him not to leave her.

"Mum-…," the Ranger struggled to speak to his mother. "They say a king-…. You always said… my father died for… a king, one day."

Damrod's breathing was shallower every moment and Indis looked around hoping there was a healer near. She saw the man who had cured Faramir, bringing him back from the edge of death, and begged him to help her son.

Aragorn knelt beside the Ranger. Gods, but how ironic was this situation? He clasped Damrod's hand and rested his other upon the young man's brow. He sensed no battle within him though, no desperation as was so heavy in Faramir, Éowyn, and Merry. He was beginning to realize now that he could not use his new skill to heal everything, this was only for lending strength to the spirit, it would mend no broken bones nor staunch any wound. Those things would take his more earth-bound skills.

Noting the difficulty Damrod had in breathing and the bruising about his chest he put an ear to the man's ribs, tapping gently. "His lung is collapsed," Aragorn said, "I need mint and lavender, immediately, as well as a strong bandage and warm cloths. Someone help me turn him."

"I'll help," said a fairly large man, also a Ranger, according to his symbol. "Come on there, little rabbit. Did you hear this man revived the Captain?" Mablung said, trying to keep Damrod conscious.

Damrod did not answer his companion's question though; instead, he looked at Aragorn intensely and asked in a rasping voice, "Are you him? Are you the King?"

Aragorn paused, meeting Damrod's gaze. At that moment, he was rather asking himself the same question. It had been his goal to keep this knowledge from the people until the War was decided once and for all; he did not want to give them false hope.

"Estel, drink this," Elrohir said, coming up behind him.

'_Estel_, _hope_,' he thought, still looking into Damrod's eyes. Softly he spoke, saying, "aye, lad, aye." There in the eyes of the Ranger was reflected such joy that, even before Aragorn took a swig of miruvor, he felt instantly better. He did all that he could for Damrod and left him in his mother's care from there. She knelt to Aragorn and kissed his hand. Aragorn lifted her to stand and shook his head. "There is no need for that, my lady, I have been indebted to you since you took me and my son into your home and fed him when he was hungry. I gave you my word that I would not forget that kindness and I would one day see it repaid. Stay with your son and comfort him."

Thus, it went on through the night for Aragorn. Sleep he never did get for he moved through the Houses doing all he could for those wounded and ailing. The sun was not quite yet breaking when he was finally sure that he had done everything possible. Had it not been for Elrohir bringing him some lembas and cordial he would not have been able to help a one of them. He found his way back to Faramir's room and looked at his sleeping son. He sat down in a chair beside the bed and forced himself to stay awake for a few more moments. He reached out and took Faramir's hand, feeling the life that was now flowing through him. Aragorn kissed his son's brow and whispered, "_Cuio, ion-nin,_" before finally falling into a heavy, restful sleep.

Elladan found him when he came to check on Faramir but minutes later and he lifted his little brother into his arms, carrying him with ease back to his pavilion. It was plain after the night they'd had that no one who called himself a son of Elrond would get any real rest within the City walls.

ooo

Once the sun had been up for a time, Legolas and Gimli went into the City to visit Merry and Pippin. It was a wonder, as were many things concerning Hobbits, but Merry was already up and about and having a stroll around the garden with Pippin. Legolas had been telling the two about their little jaunt from Rohan to Minas Tirith, via Pelargir – apparently Gimli was too _squeamish_ to speak about the Paths of the Dead – when Pippin said something about Strider having a lot of power over those thought to be dead, for when Faramir was brought in there was nearly no hope. Legolas did not know of this and immediately sought his best friend's son.

Faramir was just waking when Legolas came to see him. "Master Tree-Squirrel, it is good to see you," Faramir said, grinning. "And to think I had a pair of Black Squirrels checking in on me last night, as well."

Legolas smiled broadly, like father, like son. "It is good to see you also, pilin-nen."

Faramir laughed at that name, it was one he'd not heard in quite some while. "I assure you, I am less the water bird in these days, mellon-nin!"

"I can not say that I grieve to hear that, at one time you were a bit too curious of such things. How are you faring? I heard that you were quite unwell."

"I was," Faramir said, "but I feel much better now, thanks to my father. How is he? Last night he looked exhausted."

"He is working on that now, but Elladan told me that he was awake through the night helping people up here." Legolas moved aside as a woman came in with some tea and fruit for Faramir to break fast, and suddenly the young man had a ravenous appetite.

Mithrellas looked weary but was relieved to see Faramir sitting up and looking well. "How are you this morning?" she asked him, sounding like she needed some good news.

"I am well, my lady, thank you," Faramir said and, in his way, added, "what of you?"

"I am just tired, child," she said, though Faramir was not convinced. "Eldor did not survive the night and…" she stopped for a moment, hindered by tears, "but I do not weep of grief alone, for he is with his Fin' again, and that is as it ought to be." Mithrellas still wondered if it would be wise to tell Faramir that she had been a dear friend of his mother's.

Faramir held her hand to console her. This woman reminded him, in a way, of his grandmother, the closest thing to a mother he had ever known. Neither Faramir nor Legolas knew who Eldor or Fin' was, but they both understood that many had not survived the night. "How fares my brother?" Faramir asked, half-afraid to know.

Mithrellas did not answer for a moment, wondering if Faramir really meant Boromir, for that would mean that he knew about his birth, which did not seem likely to her.

Legolas knew that Boromir and Faramir were as brothers to one another, and he hated to be the one to have to tell Faramir what had happened at Amon Hen. However, that could not be, Mithrandir had told him that the Ring was once again in the right hands, and so surely that meant that Faramir had retrieved Boromir's body from the river, as Aragorn had hoped he would. Then again, Legolas considered, perhaps Frodo and Sam had caught up with the funeral boat themselves. Now the Elf was second, third, and fourth guessing himself. How would Mithrandir know that the Ring was back with Frodo unless Faramir told him? But he was _Mithrandir_ after all.

Seeing their confused looks, Faramir clarified. "I mean Boromir. I know you had but little time to see us together in Imladris, and… I know that he was not entirely… _himself_ on that journey, but he is very dear to me."

Mithrellas smiled, though she felt more tears encroaching. Ever since he had learned of his mother's pregnancy 36 years ago, Boromir had wanted a little brother. Here Faramir was, again, and it was a cheer to Mithrellas in such a terrible time. She could only hope now that they would not lose another again. "He is in his chambers, and hopefully taking his rest. I should go to check on him again and I shall tell him that you have asked after him." It was news that quite surprised Legolas, but he agreed to stay and keep Faramir company, and when Gimli, Pippin, and Merry came in to see Faramir as well, Mithrellas went up to the Citadel to look in on Boromir.

It was not much later that Mithrellas returned to the Houses of Healing, paler than an Elf. She hurried to Legolas, hoping that since he seemed to know Faramir he would also know Thorongil. "Where can he be found, Captain Thorongil?" she asked in panic. "He must come at once!" To think, years ago she had been distrustful of the Ranger who had unintentionally fathered Finduilas's second son.

"He should be in counsel by now," Legolas answered calmly. This had been expected, every time someone needed something they would call for Aragorn. Legolas completely understood why his Mortal friend had avoided this coming for so long.

"Someone swift must fetch him, then. I can not wake Lord Boromir no matter how I try," Mithrellas said, sounding genuinely upset.

"My brother!" Faramir sat upright, though his shoulder ached abominably.

"_Sedho, pilin-nen_!" Legolas said. "I will fetch your ada, all will be well."

As Legolas rushed off, Gimli, Pippin, and Merry exchanged quite confused looks. Gimli clearly remembered sending Boromir off in a funeral boat after the Gondorian had nearly strangled the poor, wee little Hobbit.

"Where is he?" Pippin asked Faramir, "I will go and stay with him until Strider comes." Both Merry and Gimli were a little surprised at Pippin's loyalty to Boromir, but he had always taken to the big Man. Faramir gave him simple directions to Boromir's chambers and Pippin made to leave, Merry following him.

"Oh no you do not, Merry lad!" Pippin said in a surprisingly solemn voice. "You are meant to be resting and we have already kept you out of bed for too long. Now go on and rest like Strider said!"

Merry just stood there for a moment gawking like a troll. Never had he heard anything so… sensible out of Pippin before. With a shrug, Merry moved off heading back to his own room down the hall.

Faramir started to move to get out of bed, but Gimli blocked him. "Just where do you think you are going, laddie? If that little Hobbit needs his bed rest than so do you!" Faramir really didn't feel like arguing with Gimli, or his many axes, so he laid back down, but not before one of the elder nurses promised him that he would be the first one told of his brother's condition.

ooo

_Tenya awra - That hurt._

_Ed' i'ear ar' elenea_! _Mani na lle umien_? _Mankoi na lle sinome - By the sea and stars! What are you doing? Why are you here?_

_Daro - Stop hi - now_

_Cuio, ion-nin - live, my son_

_Sedho, pilin-nen - still, water-bird_

_linda: Thank you. I am quite glad that i was able to get those deep-rooted feelings across. That means a lot to me. I have tried to take something generally not even considered (Aragorn's fathering Faramir) and turn it into something that really grips the reader into feeling it. _

_Elenhin: I had to add the duckling again, i could not resist that touch. I find that personal details like that make a lot of difference. I am not sure what you can do for Boromir just now. It's been a day already and, well... time will tell, as always. Still, i found Elladan, safe and sound!_

_AM: It was rather nice, wasn't it? But, really, how can i save Boromir? I have no extraordinary healing powers. When did i promise he would survive? And yet, then again..._


	55. In One Place Long Enough to Sleep

Aragorn sat in counsel in his pavilion with Éomer, Imrahil, Gandalf, and his Eldar brothers. He listened to Gandalf stress the fact that Sauron was wary of him, the heir to Elendil, the heir to _Númenor_. He had spent years hiding that fact so that he could escape Sauron's notice, and now, apparently, that was just the opposite of what he had to do. Now Gandalf was counseling him to invoke Sauron's notice, as much as possible. Gandalf proposed that all the men who were well enough should gather for a march directly to Sauron's doorstep and fight the full scale of his forces right there… at least long enough for Frodo to get across to Mt. Doom. Easy enough, Gandalf was only asking them all to commit suicide.

No one spoke for some time. Aragorn sat there absorbed in his own thoughts. He had only just called his son back from death, was he now to walk into it himself, with no real hope of coming back? It was not as though he had ever done anything in his life with very much caution, on the whole, but nor he had even thought about such an undertaking as challenging Sauron directly. If their ruse succeeded, what would be the merit of it if they all fell in the process? Yet Aragorn knew that Gandalf would likely not have offered this suggestion if it wasn't clear that Faramir would remain in Minas Tirith with the ability to take up the Crown and preserve the line of Elendil, indeed the line of Elros.

Looking at Gandalf, though, Aragorn had an understanding that this counsel was not in anyway easier for the Wizard, for he too was looking directly at death, and Aragorn had never heard of anyone being sent back from the Halls of Mandos _twice_. Aragorn remembered how Gandalf had shown up just when he was ready to give up four days after he had escaped Minas Tirith with his newborn son. He remembered that Gandalf showed up again in Edoras and stayed with him to Imladris, encouraging him and helping keep Faramir well. As much as Aragorn wished they could just stay in Minas Tirith and wait, he knew that Gandalf was right. This had to be done. Even if he fell in this campaign, he would do so paving the way for Faramir and those to come to know a better age than he had so far.

Aragorn agreed to the course Gandalf advised, and so too did the twins. Eomer vowed that he would return the favor Aragorn gave them at Helm's Deep, adding his forces to the march. Imrahil said that he would follow the King where he led of fealty, even though Aragorn did not claim that status, but he also felt that he had those who would be left behind to consider and thought it best that at least some manner of protection be left behind. He was still thinking of the nephew who he had not yet had the opportunity to introduce himself to, and it still marveled him that Aragorn was really the Thorongil he had fought beside so many years ago. Aragorn was quick to take up Imrahil's idea of leaving a suitable defense behind and he promised that more, fresh troops would be coming soon from the South.

It was agreed that they would set forth in two days time then. For the next two days, Aragorn intended to spend every waking moment with his son, lest they be the last moments he should spend with him. Thankful that their counsel had concluded rather quickly, Aragorn's thoughts were about getting in some more sleep before pulling his cloak about him and moving through the lesser traveled ways of the City to see Faramir and tell him of their plan. Éomer had moved off to his captains and Imrahil to his knights. Gandalf was off somewhere smoking his pipe alone, and the twins were going to put their Elven energies into helping the clean-up effort.

Aragorn had just gotten comfortable when Legolas appeared beside him. "I am sorry that you have just missed taking a suicide pact with us, mellon," Aragorn mumbled, trying to snuggle into the pack Elrohir left for him to use as a pillow. He had gotten a few hours of sleep before their counsel, but he needed more yet.

"I need not have been here. You already know that whatever path you chose Gimli and I will be there to watch out for you," Legolas said with a slight smile. "Pilin-nen cannot lose his ada… but he also needs his brother, and it seems that your hand is needed to revive yet another."

"Legolas, Boromir is in the arms of the sea by now," he said, trying to drift off like a boat on the sea himself.

"So I thought as well, but either way, there is a man who goes by the name of Boromir and whom Faramir considers a brother in the Citadel in urgent need of your hand," Legolas said.

Aragorn rose and pulled his cloak around him. There had to be a mistake, this was not remotely possible. Boromir had not survived Amon Hen, he knew that well enough, Elrond had taught him how to tell the difference between life and death and, though they were in a hurry, no pulse meant death to Aragorn. He began to doubt himself, though. Perhaps there had been something that he had overlooked; perhaps he should have tried a little longer to revive Boromir. How could he ever be forgiven by the man for dismissing his life too lightly? It was not that he ever meant to… though clearly it would look that way in the eyes of anyone who meant to oppose him, and Boromir could in fact do just that. 'Yet again,' Aragorn thought, 'a lapse of my own has affected another's life in a dreadful way.'

Without warning, someone grasped Aragorn's shoulder as he walked and spun him around. "'Dan, what -"

"I would thank you to cease that self-doubt," Elladan said in a stern tone.

Aragorn glanced around at Legolas who just shrugged. He had dearly hoped he had only been thinking and not speaking his thoughts aloud.

Elladan simply tapped at his temple, his meaning clear enough. Aragorn really hated it when one of his family read his thoughts without warning. "And I would thank you to let me know before you go prowling around my mind!" he snapped back.

"Not a chance, Estel, not until we have finished what we set out to do," Elladan replied, rather calmer.

"You do not trust me?" Aragorn questioned hotly.

"You, I trust with my life. Other forces, however, I do not. You think the power of Mordor is all deceit, despair, and envious desires? The Dark Lord sows doubt, too. Carry on, little brother, and just remember that we are here to protect you. I for one do not want to know what it would do to my sister if we lose you now."

Aragorn felt slightly embarrassed for overreacting so. He knew 'Ro and 'Dan only meant to watch out for him, as they always had done. He supposed he was just short tempered from the strain of the last... however many years. Truth be told, Elladan had rather effectively echoed his own fears and he did not care for being confronted with the possibility. Deciding to stop thinking so much, it clearly was not helping at the moment, Aragorn asked Legolas what had happened to suggest that Boromir needed his help, let alone that he was still alive.

Legolas simply explained that one of the nurses had come in and asked him where "Thorongil" could be found, which the Elf found rather amusing, and that she said that she could not wake him. Aragorn passed the gate before the tunnel and was greatly thankful that he had not been recognized, he had held his breath as they passed the Houses of Healing.

Aragorn held his breath again walking out of the tunnel and across the lawn of the Citadel. He tried to keep his eyes directly on his path and nowhere else, but he kept looking over at the White Tree and fountain. It was just as it had been the last time he was in the Citadel, the highest level of the City. That had been the day that he said a final farewell to Ecthelion, and had he but known of the man's past… the day that Faramir had been begotten. He knew that, provided the quest was successful and he survived, that this would be his home for the rest of his days. Then again, he thought that was the least likely outcome of all at that point.

Walking into the "King's House" as it was, unfathomably, still called, Aragorn felt such an odd sense of ancient kin. If that was any indication, he thought it would likely be best to steer clear of the Hall of Kings. Aragorn knew where the Steward's apartments were located and presumed that the heir's apartments would be nearby. He was correct and not terribly surprised to find a worried Pippin waiting for him there at Boromir's door. Resting a steady hand on the Hobbit's shoulder, which was, oddly, a little higher than he seemed to recall, Aragorn walked into the room. Within only moments Mithrellas and Imrahil came in too.

Aragorn recognized Mithrellas as one who was tending Faramir the night before. Before he even had a chance to get near to Boromir, though, Imrahil pulled him aside and said softly, "I never did have an opportunity to thank you for saving the life of my nephew. More than any Man could rightly do has already been done by you, and I could never hold you accountable if this one cannot be spared by your hand."

Caught a bit short, Aragorn just looked at Imrahil with a questioning, yet knowing, expression. Was this meant to say that Imrahil knew? Aragorn decided it was neither the time nor place to get into the matter and simply lowered his head in acceptance of the man's consideration.

Crossing the room to where Boromir lay abed and taking a deep breath to leave his own insecurities out of this, Aragorn set about the task of trying to find out what was ailing… well, when he thought about it, his half-nephew. After a few minutes worth of examining vital signs, Aragorn rose with a bewildered expression. "I can not see what is possibly troubling him," he said, "his heart rate is perfectly normal, he is breathing well, and he has no fever or chill. You say that you were unable to wake him?" he asked Mithrellas.

She nodded and noticing an empty vial on the nightstand handed it to Aragorn, hoping he could make something of it. Aragorn sniffed at it and tasted a tiny bit of it but seemed more perplexed than ever. "Has anyone else been here with him?" he asked rather suspiciously.

"Yes," Mithrellas said, "he seemed to be doing well enough; I thought that all he needed was to drink plenty of water and to take his rest. I asked one of the maids to stay with him and to see that he kept drinking and not to allow him out of bed. I have no notion why he should be so ill!" Mithrellas was clearly upset over Boromir's condition. She had been practically a second mother to him and now she was blaming herself for not treating him well enough.

Aragorn saw it plainly enough, he too blamed himself for not taking sufficient care of Boromir. "Is it possible to send for whoever stayed with him?" he asked.

"Certainly, but I am not sure where -"

"You needn't send for me, my lady," said a girl at the doorway who looked more upset than anyone else present did. "I heard that his Lordship was unwell and I came quickly." She glanced around at those there and looked to be afraid for her life. She was visibly trembling and her tears spilled silently. "I never thought that stuff would harm him, and then he dismissed me and sent me to the Houses to help there. I only did what his Lordship bid me to!"

Aragorn hated to see such fear in someone so young; this girl could not have been of 20 years yet. He walked her over to be seated and took her hands in his to calm her. "It is all right," he said gently. "I only need to know what was in this vial. There may be something I can do if I know."

The girl grasped Aragorn's hands tightly as a new wave of tears wracked her. "I am sorry I disobeyed him!" she cried. "I was so fearful for him, though, and when he asked me to bring him Yew extract…." She could feel Aragorn go tense at those words and she pulled back a little out of alarm. No one else seemed to react to the words though. "I knew it was a poison," she said quietly in fearful tones. "My mother used to keep it to drive mice away. I could not do it! I could not obey him and let him die!" she sobbed.

"_Sedho… sidh_," Aragorn whispered. "What was in the vial then?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as he could, understanding how upset this girl was.

"I… it was poppy juice so that he would sleep and I… I added willow bark, because he said he was in pain. I put a bit of vinegar in it also, just so that he would not recognize the taste. I would never have deceived my Lord had his life not been at risk! I did not know that what I gave him would be harmful to him! I beg your mercy, please!" The girl was on her knees before Aragorn.

Aragorn, however, was fighting to hold back laughter and failing miserably. The man was doubled over in hilarity and everyone stared at him as though it was quite obvious that he did indeed need his sleep. "Ai! It is no wonder you could not wake him, my lady. Child, please rise, you have done no harm at all and in fact you deserve a place of honor for your quick thought and knowledge of medicine. Poppy juice is a rather strong choice, but effective it is. I think that Boromir shall likely be asleep for the rest of the day, but you did indeed save his life." Aragorn began to sober a bit with the thought that Boromir had actually asked for Yew extract, but that could be settled later. For now, the main thing was that he was in no immediate danger.

Shaking his head, Aragorn kissed Boromir on the brow, saying, "enjoy your rest, Son of Gondor, the rest of us are not so fortunate!" He left the room with Legolas and Pippin, leaving Boromir's care in the hands of Mithrellas and his uncle, and that poor young girl who was so terrified that she would be disciplined for saving his life. It made Aragorn wonder what state the City had come to if people were expected to blindly follow orders or fear retribution, even if they acted for the best. However, that was something else that he had little desire to ponder.

"I must go and speak with Faramir," Aragorn said, "I had no notion that he lived, and I can not begin to understand how I missed -"

"Absolutely not!" Legolas said, stepping in front of Aragorn and stopping him in his tracks. "Faramir will not be going anywhere in a hurry. You on the other will drop over of exhaustion if you do not get some sleep, Mortal. Now, get back to your pavilion. Pippin, would you mind seeing his Stubbornness directly to his sleeping appointments? I shall go to Faramir and let him know that you are going to rest well for a while with no more interruptions, and so too is his brother. Go!"

Pippin, dutiful Guard of the Citadel that he was, took Aragorn's hand and led him firmly away as he stared at Legolas with an expression that was a mixture of shock and relief.

ooo

_sedho... sidh - still... peace_

_AM: Sure, i am the "author" but you know how little control i have over these characters. And, anyway, i can't do anything. I meant, i can't fly, can i?_

_linda: I really have not seen any other stories which have Faramir and Aragorn with a blood relationship. I have seen a good few in which Aragorn rather takes Faramir under his wing, and yet even that wasn't quite the inspiration for my premise. Anyway, i am quite you are enjoying so far. I do so aim to please, more or less :)_

_estelle: It is good to hear from you again! I understand about work keeping you away, though. I am surprised that you were very nearly able to guess me out about Boromir. Well, i couldn't really bump him off, could i? And yet, no one's fate is really secure until i write the words "the end." I do hope you shan't have to gofor weeks again, but i can understand that it would be a lot easier on your nerves to be ableto read all at once!_

_Elenhin: I know i have a bit of areputation for being a biton the evil sideto my poorvictims... characters, rather. I think i am getting a bit soft though. I seem to be completely unable to decide if Boromir should live or die. He does seem to be all right now. I wonder if he will insist on going along to Morannon, though, once he wakes up that is. There are many who do wish to see him live, though, and i have gotten so AU by now... well... time will tell, as i always say._


	56. Like a Thief in the Night

By some strange working of what had to be the Valar alone, word of Boromir's presence in the city, let alone his condition, had actually not gotten around Minas Tirith. It was taken for granted that he had been lost on his way home from Rivendell, and Faramir, though he was in no condition to do anything about it, was being called the Steward of Gondor because of a very surprising, if not hotly debated, "last" writing of Boromir's. There were even those who claimed that Faramir must have forced Boromir's hand, literally, in writing the document the very day before they rushed off to some Elven land in the north… a land from which Faramir returned from unscathed to his command, but from which Boromir never returned.

Fortunately, the people who believed such things only _thought_ that they were important to Gondor. While most others of the lower levels of the City did not know that Boromir had in fact returned, they thought that he had made a sound choice in naming his heir. Since the lord had no children, they believed it made sense for him to call upon the one who was nearest to him, even if Faramir was not of the same blood. Most people were growing a little sick of the House of Anárion and all of its inaction over the years. Some were growing restless with the Stewardship that seemed to be getting closer and closer to making a claim on the Throne with each passing generation.

Then yet again, there were those who were anxious that no one even knew what House Faramir was of, though he was visibly of Númenórean decent. They thought that Imrahil was the better choice to succeed as Steward of Gondor and were pleased that the banner of Dol Amroth was flown from the Citadel the day after the battle.

Of course, many also distrusted Imrahil's intentions, saying that he intended to make a permanent claim on the Stewardship, thereby shifting the power south. The Prince of Dol Amroth had always been the second most powerful man in Gondor, and now many believed he aimed to become the most powerful.

Over all of this furor, there was the rumor that the King had come back and had worked through the night curing men of impossible injuries and ailments. The select few who knew that Boromir was alive and in the city said nothing, for much the same reason that those who knew the extent of Aragorn's identity said nothing, if all was to go ill in the end, none wanted to get up the hopes of so many. Gondor, in effect, had its entire system of government shaken and disorganized in a single day. There was enough confusion in Gondor to last into the next age and the City was actually more vulnerable than more secure now that the battle was over.

Once back in his pavilion, Aragorn dropped like a rock in water and slept the entire day. He was outside the City and just a Ranger again. Had anyone wanted to bother him, they would have been met by a stubborn Elf and a downrightly obdurate Dwarf who both knew exactly how little restful sleep Aragorn had taken in weeks.

Faramir was also able to get a quite rest that day. The Houses of Healing had been anything but relaxing the night before, but things seemed to become less pressing with day, thanks in large part to Aragorn's work. Many who were able to be healed were taken care of and sent back to their homes, some were even able to return to the ranks. Many others had not lived to see the sunrise, leaving a much more manageable number of patients needing constant care. It was still much more than the Houses had ever dealt with before and most rooms were still overflowing, but at least now things were relatively under control.

When Aragorn finally woke, evening was drawing on. For a change the smell of dinner actually overpowered the smell of death, even if it was camp food, and Aragorn felt rather hungry. Pulling on a cloak and wandering out from the pavilion Aragorn was drawn toward the camp of the Rohirrim. As he gradually began to wake properly, something in his mind was signaling him to be cautious though his thinking was so foggy at the moment he couldn't really reason why. It wasn't until he was in sight of the cooking pit that it came back to him that he had an unfavorable experience with Rohirric cuisine not so long ago. It caused his appetite to diminish slightly but he was still hungry and knew that he needed to eat something.

Spying Legolas not too far away he waved him over and asked, hopefully, if there was anything safe to eat available. To his surprise, Legolas said that the soup prepared was edible, at least for Mortal beings. Aragorn had not even noticed that Gimli had been dozing beside the tent flap with an empty bowl beside him. It lifted his spirits to have been able to get a proper sleep and now a proper dinner. The soup was not only warming but filling and rich in taste.

Apparently Éomer had acquired his father's cooking skills more so than his sister, whose idea of a camp stew was some along the line of hot water and hay with a bit of clover tossed in for bitterness. Éomund was known to command the best fed éored in the Mark and he usually did the cooking himself. It was something that Aragorn remembered well from days long since past and as he ate he sat thinking about all he had seen in his life. He had seen 87… _88_ years, in actual fact. So many had come and gone in that time. Aragorn decided to stop thinking so deeply. He had been feeling rather good before he started thinking of how old he was. It was unclear to him whether the sight of Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli, and Gandalf made him feel better about his own age or not.

Aragorn looked toward the City and noted that the sun was dipping down behind Mount Mindolluin. Minas Tirith was cast about in shadows, this time of a natural manner, and Aragorn slipped away from the camp without being seen and went into the City covertly; using his old knowledge of the place to move through shadowed alleys, he only needed to make his presence known at the gates. One early May morning from nearly 36 years ago came to mind and upon reaching the sixth circle, Aragorn kept to the alleys as he approached the Houses of Healing and found the back door he had used in escaping with his newborn son. As he sneaked into Faramir's room, the irony struck him that whereas once he had carried his son away from here and struggled to keep him alive and well, now he had come into the City to fight for his son's life.

Faramir was sleeping lightly when Aragorn slipped in from a "servant's entrance" and when his father stroked his hair gently he opened his eyes and looked up at his dearly loved father.

"How are you feeling?" Aragorn whispered.

Faramir shrugged. "I am glad to be alive, more than anything," he said drowsily, "but I feel quite tired still. I feel as though I could sleep for days."

Aragorn smiled. He knew how much his son hated feeling tired and being forced to take the rest he really needed. Faramir was accepting and understood healing well enough to know that rest was usually the best medicine, it was the rest part of that he had trouble enduring. "And so you should. I envy you, you shall rest and recover. I have more yet to be done." He stopped for a moment considering his next words. There had never been secrets between him and his son (with the exception of that _one_), and yet he wondered if it would a wise use of this short time they had together to talk of the march planned on the Black Gates.

Faramir was not one to be put off easily, though. He could see the conflict in his father's eyes. "I would sooner you tell me, ada," he said quietly. "Whatever it is, I could easier bear to hear it from you and hear the truth, than to hear some butchered tale from some loquacious nurse. I have already heard someone speaking of my brother as dead out in the hallway, when I had just been assured that he was well."

Aragorn sighed. "I do not think that the general population is aware that Boromir is even in the City. A nurse from Dol Amroth told me that he was dressed as a Ranger when she found him here, no one recognized him in the state he was in."

"No, they would not have," Faramir grinned slightly. "Our grooming habits in Ithilien are rather secondary to staying alive. However, you and I both know enough about that."

"Boromir was sleeping soundly when I left him," Aragorn reassured his son. Somehow the topic had taken a convenient shift and Aragorn knew that he would need to talk with Faramir about Boromir's condition as well, so he let the topic of the march go by temporarily. "He was fortunate. His condition is a lot better than most around here. Faramir…." How to tell his son that he had sent his half-brother off to his death when he was not yet dead? Was this _really_ easier than talking about that suicide mission?

Once again, though, Faramir demonstrated the innate understanding that he shared with his father. "I know why you sent him on. I did not think him alive either, had it not been for Damrod's thinking clearer than i…. Well, I know about the poison, how it slows the heartbeat dangerously. And I know that you did not know that he had _it_."

"I did not even detect a poison in his wound," Aragorn said unhappily.

Faramir gave a small shrug and simply said, "Saruman. His work was never as obvious as Sauron's."

Aragorn nodded. "My compliments to his healer, though. That wound was taken _expert_ care of."

Faramir smiled shyly and said, "I learned from the best."

"That you did," Aragorn said smiling sadly. "I have wished so much that adar was here now."

"I did not mean daerada," Faramir clarified, looking directly into his father's eyes. "Daerada taught me much, but in a cave in Ithilien I did not exactly have the conveniences of Imladris at my disposal. Without your guidance, I would not be here today and nor would my brother. I also can see that more is weighing on you."

Aragorn shook his head. "I must have let you spend too much time with ada and the twins," he said teasingly.

"No, not quite," Faramir said, "we just spent too much time together for you to be able to hide what is troubling you."

"Aye, well, likewise, you cannot hide it from me when you are weary and need your rest," Aragorn said, almost trying to back out of the conversation, but he wanted desperately to spend this time with his son. It was too likely that this might be the last time they had together and…. Aragorn sat back in the chair beside the bed, staring into the fire in the fireplace. "We are going to march on the Morannon," he said cheerlessly. "The idea is that Sauron shall be so frightened of what a worthless Ranger and a raggle-taggle band of worn-out soldiers might do to his impenetrable fortress that he shall forget all about his Ring of Power, which could unmake the world, to make sure that I do not stride in and take over Barad-dûr for my own."

"Were I Sauron, I would be terrified," Faramir said humorlessly. "But I am not, I am your son, and I am proud."

In that moment father and son embraced tightly, for both knew how much was at stake and that in these days words were not said lightly. They knew also that this time was important and it could not be squandered. These were the sort of moments that were recalled by a dying man desperately seeking one last thought to ease his passing; these were the sort of moments recalled by those left behind desperately seeking any and all of those dear memories. Together Aragorn and Faramir talked long into the night, discussing many things from the earliest days of Faramir's life to what should happen into the future… should there _be_ a future.

Before the sun rose in the twilight of the morning, Faramir had started slipping back into sleep. Aragorn kissed his sleepy son's brow, promising that he would come back after the sun set again. He refused to say that that visit would be for a goodbye, but he feared deeply that it would prove to be.

Instead of heading back to his pavilion, though, Aragorn decided to check in on Boromir. It was yet another one of his fears that he figured it would be best to face sooner than later; Boromir awake and lucid could be very angry indeed to see him, the man who had nearly sent him off to his death prematurely. Still, considering the chance he had of surviving very long beyond getting to Mordor's front door, he supposed it was really a moot point.

Once again Aragorn was walking through the highest level of Minas Tirith and again, unbidden, the thought came to him that if, by some very strange and inexplicable twist of his so-far ill-fate, all went well in the end, he could wind up calling this place home for the rest of his days. The thought of calling any place other than Imladris home frightened him, but he had long since learned to bury fear. Aragorn knew well that most things one fears never come to pass anyway.

Aragorn knocked softly at the door to Boromir's chambers. He was greeted by the young maid who had, in essence, saved his life. He smiled to see her, but she looked a bit nervous and curtseyed to him for a long moment. That made Aragorn rather uncomfortable and again the thought came to him that such things could be the rest of his life if he came back to Minas Tirith again. Still, he nodded to acknowledge her reverence and asked how Boromir was doing.

"He was just beginning to wake when you knocked, sire," the girl said timidly. "Lady Mithrellas is with him."

"Thank you," he said, going into the bedchamber. "I will stay with him for a time," he said softly to Mithrellas. "You should take some rest."

Mithrellas did not say anything, but looked into the eyes of the man she recalled as Thorongil and nodded, quietly leaving the room. Aragorn did not speak; he would leave that option to Boromir first. It was his way of testing the waters. Instead, he allowed his healer's instincts to guide him and, though he was potentially risking injuring, leaned in to check Boromir's pulse. What an irony _that_ was.

Boromir did turn slightly at the touch. He had noticed someone leaving the room and figured that he was left alone. For the last hour, he had been faking sleep. He had woken from his rather extended nap (did he ever do anything else of late?) to the sound of voices, one he recognized immediately, his "aunt" Mithrellas. There was not much of a thought process at first, he was just "getting his bearings," as it were, but when he heard someone say, "I cannot even imagine that _yew _is kept in the Houses," a rush of recollection came back to him. He has asked that young girl to bring him yew extract, having heard that the stuff was poison. This had to mean that it hadn't worked.

Boromir heard someone else saying, "I never imagined I should be forgiven… but I just could not have lived with myself had I given him…." So, then, he had not even taken the stuff. He briefly wondered what it was he had taken, but it had mattered little to him at that point. Somehow, someway he had been denied eternal peace repeatedly. He guessed the Valar had been sparing him for some greater torture. Still, could there really be a greater torture for him than to have failed his father, his brother, even the King?

So lost in his thoughts it had been easy for Boromir to fake sleep, fooling the two women who stayed near. Ever time he heard Mithrellas speak he remembered his beautiful mother. He had even failed her memory, and that pierced him to the heart more than aught else. Surely, he could have apologized to any living person; perhaps he could even bear retribution until those wronged were satisfied, but to his mumma he could not apologize.

Someone had a firm but gentle hand on his wrist now, though, and figuring that he could not just pretend to sleep much longer anyway, he might as well get some answers… or give some, as was more likely. Dread flooded him when he saw the sharp grey eyes of the man who knew was the rightful King. Boromir was torn between pulling away and fleeing, as his initial instinct told him to, and facing Aragorn's sentence. Honor had been failing him left, right, and center lately, so he decided that he would force it into compliance at least this once, pitiful as he felt that was.

"My Lord," he said in a voice much weaker than he expected. He guessed those words were like a slap in the face to the man whose trust he had betrayed. Aragorn showed no sign of anger or offense though, and simply pressed a cup of cold water into Boromir's hand.

"You think you shall get out of it that easily?" Aragorn said lightly, in part teasing Boromir that just calling him _his_ Lord did not really make it so just yet, though a part of him really did mean to take Boromir to task for being so stupid as to try to enlist an innocent person's help in taking his own life. "Me, I have yet another test to pass before I dare to claim that title. If I do not pass, if my _luck_ runs out, you still have the unadulterated _privilege_ of having the gilded albatross of highest rank shackled 'round your neck."

No, that symbolism was not lost on Boromir, who had grown up in Dol Amroth by the sea. "I can think of worse things to have 'round my neck," Boromir said with a tone that implied several things.

"Really? As I see it from here, your shame is doing you as much harm as a noose would, or an angry pair of hands, or even a Ring of Power." Aragorn told himself to stop there at the look on Boromir's face. He had accused his son and brother of mind reading and here he was doing it himself. Besides, he had not come to berate the man into getting back onto his own two feet; he had come to ask Boromir's pardon for what he saw as failing him in a potentially ultimate way. He had come to lay bare the shame that he had been eating at him, and yet here he saw this man in a much worse state of self-perceived ignominy than he himself was even when explaining about Faramir's birth to his beloved.

"I am sorry," he said sincerely. "I came here to bear my contrition to you, not to upbraid you for yours."

"You? What have you to apologize to me for? You did me no injury. You did not take in greed from my lifeless body a token that you knew held the fate of every man, woman, and child upon Arda."

"No, but I failed you personally, Boromir. You were gravely injured and my mind had assumed your death to the point that my fingertips could not feel your pulse. I have been told that there was some poison that I failed to detect in your wound that caused your heart rate to drop, but to me that is no excuse, I should have tried harder. That I now learn that there was a poison present and I overlooked it shames me also. I do not really expect your forgiveness for it, I accept your blame."

"That was what you said when you told me that my little brother is really related to me after all. You seem to take blame so easily, I wish I had such fortitude and honor in me." Boromir looked away again, his eyes focused on the bed sheet on the other side of him. "Did Fara' ever make it back here?" he asked quietly.

"Yes. He is doing well enough right now. He told me just tonight that he hopes to be able to leave the Houses long enough to visit you soon." Aragorn hoped that that would at least give Boromir something to look forward to.

"He should not waste his energy. Before we left I named him my heir, just in case. Stupid thing to do I guess, but I did not know he was already the heir to this place. It was a comfort to me to think that I could just go out quietly and let him have my place, he would be better at it anyway." Boromir sounded rather like he was talking to himself more than to Aragorn.

"Faramir is not my heir," Aragorn said calmly. "Not by any official record. It was my intent to let him make that choice on his own when he came of age. I never really got the chance to tell him that though, when I finally worked up the courage to tell him of our line he left before I knew it and came here." Aragorn was trying now to establish a link between him and Boromir, using Faramir as their common concern, as one man's loss had turned out to be the other man's gain.

"He truly has your determination, my little brother. He knew what I had done in Amon Hen and yet he kept me alive in his cave for days. When I finally came to, he held me blameless. Said that no one could withstand such a force as the Ring. He has a kind heart, but I wish he would not use it to sugarcoat things. Others were plainly able to resist it whereas I could not."

"Faramir was right, Boromir." It was not Aragorn who said it though. There in the doorway stood Gandalf, smiling widely. "I really believed we had lost you, though I suppose that is only fair, I did give that same scare to all of you. However, Faramir was very much right… as so are you. No one can withstand the Ring, and the more powerful the individual in question is, the less he is able to withstand it. You, however, had another disadvantage that quite few others had against them. You had seen _his_ mind. I daresay that worked against you from the moment it occurred, if what Faramir tells me is accurate."

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. Gandalf could definitely do this better than he could and he was starting to feel a little tired again. The sun was up over the horizon already. Rising, he offered the bedside chair to the elderly Wizard. "I will leave you to wiser counsels than my own for now," he said to Boromir. "We both of us have a long way to go yet, my brother, and not all of the battles can be won by steel and dart. I will come by again after night, but I shall only stay a short time, for we will be leaving on the morrow to press Sauron in his own land. So cocky we have grown from one little victory with home field advantage," Aragorn grinned. "Take rest of heart and mind, my friend. Be assured that _you_ are needed _here_." With that Aragorn drew his hood up again and disappeared into the shadows that were quickly melting away with the sun that, this day at least, rose even over the darkness of Mordor.

ooo

_Well, this took me significantly longer than usual to update! The last week was just one thing after another. Nothing terrible, just a series of moderately stressful incidents that rather added up. It is my **hope **that having a full week off next week will see me making up for this unusal delay._

_linda: More twists than a pretzel? I agree, i wish Aragorn could share Fara's room before he has to go off to Mordor (and whatever might happen there is anyone's guess). But somehow i do not think he would get a moment's rest anywhere inside the City._

_Elenhin: The maid is indeed quite smart. She might have a future as a nurse in the Houses, she really knows her medicines. Funny thati don't even have a name for her though. Heh... now i come to think i really ought to post warnings. I have mentioned several quite poisonous herbals in some of my writings, i ought to tell people to avoid themasI do get all my information from a credible book on herbals. I say so all the time, but at least in this story, i just don't seem to be able to really do Boromir in. Not that that is a bad thing._

_estelle: Quite welcome. I doubt i shall stop sharing any time soon, i do so enjoy the feedback :)_

_steelelf: Aye, i know. Like i said, i just can't seem to do it. I have let him live this long, so, well... I must be getting soft._


	57. Maternal History

Faramir dozed lightly off and on throughout the day. At one point someone came in to bring him a bowl of broth and some bread, there was little else that could be spared immediately. March was a time of low provisions as it was and now Minas Tirith was also playing host to armies of Dol Amroth and Rohan and everyone in between. Faramir wondered how long it had been since he'd had any real food, for he ate as if he was starving. 'Dan had given him some lembas when he visited the night that his father had brought him back from the edge of death. Still, while lembas would keep one going, it did not exactly lift one's spirits much. Hot broth and crusty bread, on the other offer, did just that!

He recognized the woman who brought him the broth and spoke to her as she stirred the dying embers in the fireplace and banked it with a few more wedges of wood. "You were here when I woke, were you not?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, I was, my lord," Mithrellas replied looking back toward Faramir. What an amazing turn of circumstances it was that transpired to lead to her calling her dearest friend's long lost base-born son her lord.

Faramir just smiled weakly, he still felt so fatigued! "I doubt anyone can call me their lord. I just accidentally wound up here, that is all there really was to it."

Mithrellas smiled slightly, it was true in an ironic way. Though by far it was most ironic that here lay the same child who Finduilas had sent away for his safety, now giving her that same drained smile that his mother used to give her when she felt weak. "You are so like to your mother…," Mithrellas mused in a whisper.

At once Faramir took notice. "You knew her? But… then, you know?"

Mithrellas smiled. "Aye, I have since I saw you here. When your father came in, I knew at once that Fin' had made no mistake in putting you in his keeping."

"So you knew all along?" Faramir asked amazed.

"Yes, from the very beginning. Fin' was my dearest friend and she confided in me. For years, I thought she had made a terrible mistake in allowing Thorongil to take you from here. Now I see, though, how much you resemble your father, and how well he has cared for you. She was wise indeed, and I feel honored to be able to serve you now."

Faramir was overwhelmed, he had never known anything about his mother, and now he was talking to her closest friend. When he put together that he and Boromir were half brothers he had tried to remember anything that Boromir might have mentioned about his mother, but there was rather little since Boromir rarely spoke of her. Suddenly he wanted to know everything. He guessed that Mithrellas was close to Finduilas in age and likely in appearance since they were from the same place. Faramir couldn't help but to indulge himself and think that she could be his mother sitting with him. It was also strange, though, for Mithrellas looked to be as aged as his grandmother was when he last saw her. And his father… well, he hadn't been touched by as so much as weariness. What an odd sight it would be, an aged and grayed mother, and a young-looking father, when surely his mother had been a good twenty years younger than his father was.

Mithrellas laughed slightly, shaking her head. "No, your mumma and I were not so similar in appearance. She was fairer than I, she had a more pale countenance and reddish-blonde hair. She was a female version of her brother. You have not met Imrahil?"

Faramir shrugged; if he had met him, he would not have known it.

"Imrahil is the Prince of Dol Amroth. He was with your father when he came here to you, but I do not believe that he stayed long," Mithrellas explained. This was an experience she never even considered, she was convinced that Finduilas's second baby would never make it to his first year out in the wild with that Ranger. For some while, she stayed with Faramir, talking about Finduilas. She even told him of her secret love whom she left to marry Denethor, for all along she had expected that it was that situation that lead to Faramir's making. She told him of how Finduilas used to sit at her north window at evenings and murmur that she wondered how her Fara' was getting on. She was fairly sure that Imrahil knew that Faramir was his other nephew, but it likely was taking him as much time to sort all this out as it was taking Faramir, who was beginning to look sleepy again.

"Rest now, Faramir, I shall fetch you some more broth before too long, if I can," Mithrellas said, rising to leave.

Faramir caught her hand and said, "thank you so much for introducing me to my mother. Do you know when I may go to see my brother?"

Mithrellas was about to say that it should not be too long when Ioreth came in, having "overheard" Faramir's question and said, "as long as you are under my care, it shall not be for a while yet! Just because that Ranger that everyone suddenly thinks is going to be King came and woke you up with some old dry leaves, it does not mean that you are -"

"Thank you, dear Lady Ioreth, I shall see that he gets his rest for a while," said Imrahil, entering. Ioreth was so startled that she didn't immediately bow to him, but catching the glint in his eye that told her that he was only just tolerating the elderly nurse and her habits, she quickly dipped her head and hurried off. "I have never been able to cope with these Minas Tirithians. You should rest, 'Rel, you are exhausted," he said to Mithrellas with a tired smile. She did not disagree and departed. "Allow me to introduce myself, Imrahil of Amroth," he said with a bow to Faramir.

Faramir inclined his head in return, as much as he could as he was propped up by pillows.

"I can see you are nearly falling asleep," Imrahil said, "I promise not to keep you awake. I just wanted to meet you, at long last. When Gandalf told me whom you are as you rode

out to Osgiliath… well, ever since Fin' died I have wondered who her little Faramir is." Imrahil desperately wanted to apologize to Faramir for leaving him in Denethor's care, his judgment had been wrong and he saw clearly why his sister had sent her tiny baby away, he would have never been accepted by Denethor. However, Gandalf had cautioned him that he should not speak of what he had been told about the incident in Rath Dinen to either of his nephews.

"The honor is mine, my lord," Faramir said, blinking sleepily. "You ride with my father in the morning?" he asked around a yawn.

Imrahil smiled sadly, the man really did bring back memories of his older sister. "Aye, lad," he responded. "I hope that I may finally get to know you after we have this business at Mordor settled."

"I, too, should be glad…," Faramir trailed off mid-sentence. He was sound asleep.

Bowing his head again to Faramir, Imrahil left the Houses of Healing. He wished to see his other nephew before he was required to attend his station and prepare for the coming day. It had not been easy for him to see Bori' leave Dol Amroth years ago to return to Minas Tirith, but he understood that he and his nephew could not build sandcastles on the beach for all time. Now he only hoped he could do his best to help keep some of the _real_ castles from being swept out with the tide of darkness from Mordor.

Imrahil walked into his elder nephew's chambers. He wondered if it was really possible that it had been 37 years since his nephew first arrived in Dol Amroth with his mumma. He would always remember how Boromir's eyes lit up at the mention of sea-monsters. Even from the age of five, Bori' had wanted to fight for those he loved.

Imrahil had not been to see his nephew since their liege had determined that he was well and only in a deep sleep. There was more than plenty that he needed to see to in that time and he knew it would be best to let Boromir get his sleep. Now as he looked at this one, his beloved sister's first child, laying awake in his bed, a bowl of uneaten broth beside him, bread untouched, cup of water still full, he realized that 37 years had indeed passed and that much indeed has transpired in that time.

"How are you feeling, Bori'?" Imrahil asked, trying to sound at ease and in good spirits.

Boromir was curled up on his side, facing away from the door. He closed his eyes when he heard his dear uncle speak to him. Gods, but could they not just leave him alone? Why would no one just let him die? That Wizard had been sitting there for an hour trying to convince him that it was his own fault that he took the Ring, telling him that he should forgive himself for what happened. Boromir thought that maybe he could accept that in time, but that did not change the fact that he had done wrong and endangered everyone he loved. He felt he still needed to somehow make amends, to pay restitution for what he'd done. He could not stop himself from seeing in his mind over and over the image of Ringbearer's unconscious form laying there on the forest floor and his own reaching for the chain about his neck.

Imrahil waited a moment but received no response. He sat down beside his nephew and put a hand on his shoulder. He could see the tearstains cascading along Boromir's cheeks. "Boromir?" This was too much alike to how things had been when Fin' died for his comfort.

"It broke me, uncle," Boromir said in quiet, low, and hoarse voice. "I no longer even know myself and now I have no chance to even attempt to regain some sort of honor, and no one will just let me die!"

"Boromir, how could you think that you had lost honor because you fell to the Ring? Yes, I do know, lad. I have an understanding of just how powerful a weapon we are speaking. Tell me, would you feel dishonored to fall to the strongest, heaviest, sharpest sword ever forged, wielded by the greatest swordsman who ever lived?"

Boromir moved his head in a gesture that seemed to indicate no.

"That is what the Ring is, Bori'. It is a sword that attacks not the body, but the mind and even the heart. And Sauron is the true wielder of it, no matter whose hand it is in."

"I wanted to save Gondor," Boromir said miserably in a tear-laden voice, turning further away from his uncle. "I only would have cause its utter ruination."

"Ah, little sandpiper! You have always had the most noble of intentions." Imrahil spoke gently, hoping to ease his nephew's hurt. "Do you remember when you went after your father with your little wooden waster thinking that he was a sea-monster?"

Again, Boromir motioned his head to mean yes.

"Your only thought was to protect your mumma, you did not care that the 'sea-monster' was more than twice your size. That little Ring was much more than twice your size, Boromir. We all want to save Gondor, all of Arda indeed, and none of us can think too much on the fact that this is beyond us. You have likely heard that those who are able are going to Morannon. The intent is to distract Sauron long enough to give a couple of little Halflings the change to get to Mt. Doom. I have no notion how many of us may return here if this works, or if any of us shall return. However, if I do not, I want to be sure that you will not simply wallow your life away until you die of self-neglect. I doubt that would be a proper memorial to your mumma or any of those who struggled for your safety over the years."

Boromir did not seem to be at all comfortable with this topic, but Imrahil continued to speak. "Honor can not be handed to a man, it must be earned. But more importantly, you can not lose honor to another, you are the only one who can cast off your honor. Do you believe that you would have done what you did if it had not been for the influence of the Ring?"

Immediately Boromir replied with as much enthusiasm as he had shown in days, "never!"

"Then you can _not_ have lost honor because of what you did. You said it, you were not yourself, you did not act on your own behalf." Imrahil was nearly desperate to find a way to bring his beloved nephew out of his misery.

"How may a broken man be cured?" Boromir asked. At that moment he felt as though he could simply spend the rest of his life laying there in his bed waiting for death to take him, and yet deep inside him he longed to be healed and whole again, to be himself again, out and about his duties, keeping his blade and body and wits honed in anticipation of the next need of it.

"With forgiveness, with time, and with love, Boromir. Just as your ankle will regain its strength in time, so too will your heart."

"That sounds like something mumma would have said," Boromir said, seeming to speak to his pillow rather than his uncle.

"I believe it is what she would have said. She was always so proud of you because you never let anything get you down; you always found a way around difficulties. You will overcome this too, I have no doubt of it and nor should you. Take heart, Boromir, there is still hope. I shall see you again before we depart on the morrow if I may. Remain strong, my nephew!" Imrahil said before making his way back to his Knights to prepare for the next day.

ooo

_Yet again this took me longer than usual to get up. I actually have an interesting excuse this time: back on Thursday morning i noticed a little red spot on my finger, like a little mosquito or flea bite. Friday i wasn't so little anymore and i realized i had a spider-bite. Ok, so it was obviously nothing really dangerous or i would not have been in the shape to notice anything on Friday, and i can hardly call it an excuse for writing, but still, best (and worst) excuse i ever had... Besides that, i have been home for four solid days now and i think i am allergic to my house, i can not stop sneezing and sniffing. I haven't had taken a week off and just stayed at home for a long, long time. Maybe i am allergic to rest and relaxation. It wouldn't surprise me._

_AM: Funny thing, i never realized the age mistake until i was writing this and i went to check the dates. Yes, Helm's Deep was after March 1. My guess is after you have been running without sufficient rest for days and days you can rather lose track of time. It's understandable, sometimes i don't remember how old i am either. Besides, when you get to that age you don't want to sound any older than you have to._

_Elenhin: It certainly seems that Imrahil agrees with you about Boromir not possibly being evil. Surely proud and evil can not be the same. Hopefully, Imrahil will be able to get through to him... poor guy is in such a miserable state right now. _

_steelelf: No! Definitely not! He did have it in Ithilien, but Frodo got it back. It does seem as if it is still affecting him, but that is his own mental state after having been in its control._

_linda: I do so love to write Aragorn and Faramir, they make a truly wonderful father and son and are so easy to write as such. _


	58. Doubts and Hopes

"Just how do you propose to stay astride in the shape you are in?" Legolas asked, pulling the pipe out of Aragorn's grip. His hand was so unsteady that smoldering ash had started to shake out of the bowl. The sun was starting to rise, riders were assembling, the Knights of Dol Amroth were preparing to make their way down the circles of the city, and Aragorn was smoking like a fiend in a nervous fit.

"You aren't leaving your son with the knowledge that, for one, this ruse might not work, and two, even if it does the chances of me coming back here are nearly none at all." Even his voice was shaking.

"A thousand times have I seen you stare death in the face and smile. What is different this time?" Legolas asked.

"A week, Leg'," said Elrohir, coming up to join the party with his twin. "Valar! What would our ada say about _that_!" Elrohir put on a shocked expression, pointing at the smoking pipe Legolas was still holding and getting an exasperated glare for it.

"There is nothing the matter with my legs, neither one is remotely weak," Aragorn protested in a grumble.

"A _week_, Estel, that is how long it will take us to get to the Morannon," Elladan clarified. "You have too much time to think on this. It is always easier to face these things when you do not expect them."

"A week? Gods! That is impossible! It can not take -" Aragorn had not been in the mood to having anyone suggesting such a thing. He could not possibly bear this waiting for another week.

"It can and will with entire armies to lead, or have you forgotten that you move faster alone?" Gandalf said, suddenly appearing as he tended to do.

"Well that means that Frodo and Sam will surely move a great deal faster as well," Aragorn said, now thoroughly frustrated. "Why did you not say before -"

"Sedho, Estel!" Legolas said. "They do not move as fast as we do, shorter legs." That drew a snarl from Gimli and a roll of the eyes from Legolas.

"Do you really have such little faith in me, Aragorn?" Gandalf questioned. "Would I have put together this whole operation only to have the timing, the entire _point _of the thing, askew? If you do think that, I see no reason why I should continue to accompany you."

Gandalf's closing remark was not lost on Aragorn who remembered those same words from a point on the road between Edoras and Rivendell some 37 years ago. "You can not promise to keep us both safe this time, Gandalf," he said quietly, referring to him and Faramir.

Gandalf merely gave a small, unhappy shake of his head, indicating that he would not contradict Aragorn, as the Mortal had so wished he would do.

Taking a moment to glance back up to the sixth level of Minas Tirith. "I am just scared. May I be permitted a bit of that?"

"It's the only one thing that there is enough of to go around," Gimli said in a voice surprisingly sympathetic.

Aragorn took a deep breath, nodded, and said simply, "let us go."

A week to the Morannon. A week to have sleepless nights even if he did his best to make everyone else believe that he was quite well enough rested. A week to come to terms with what surely would be his death. 'Well,' Aragorn thought, 'at least Boromir lives and Gondor will have her Steward, if Faramir finds that he can not bear that which I never wanted to him to bear.' There were so many things he had wanted to say to his son, and he thought about those things each night in great detail.

As if that wasn't enough, Aragorn had started to notice that those around him, the soldiers who had initially rallied and jumped at the chance to join their would-be King in the final fight with the Dark Lord, were beginning to realize how hopeless this was. There were a couple of nights he had walked the camps silently, wrapped in his Lórien cloak, trying to find solace in solitude. More often than not he overheard conversations between men and always did they echo his own fears. Men had wives, sons, and daughters sheltered in the City who they feared they would never again see. Some were angry at him for bringing them out on such a suicide mission and told him so to his face, or rather his hood, though they had thought him one of their own rank at the time and had no idea they were really telling him to his face. Sometimes he would walk noiselessly passed a lone man, a soldier, weeping uncontrollably, whether he was alone because he removed himself from company, or company removed themselves from him, was unclear. Aragorn understood them all though, and it gnawed at him that these men were following _him_. If Sauron was really so petrified of Isildur's heir, why couldn't he just walk up to the Black Gate and turn himself in without risking anyone else?

---

Faramir stood by the balustrade in the healing garden. This place was the closest thing to _home_ that he had found in this great stone city. He wasn't really sure if he was "permitted" to have gone so far from his bed yet (an entire 40 paces as he counted them) but he wanted to watch as his father rode at the fore of a long march into a terrible place. Of course, it hadn't been too bad at first, it felt quite good to finally leave that bed. But as he stood clutching the column and looking out over the Pelennor, he began to actually tremble. It wasn't possible, he thought, to be so exhausted by merely standing in a garden! He figured it was more to do with the emotion of his father departing and tried to stay and watch until the entire company was beyond his sight, but that feat was beyond him at the moment. Instead he sat down on a bench and tried to catch his breath. He had a feeling the road to recovery was going to be a bit longer than he anticipated.

As Faramir sat there in the garden, his weakness having caught up to him, such a sadness fell over him. He had never felt so alone before. His father, his uncles (all three of them), and Gandalf had left. His brother was not able to walk down from the Citadel, and clearly he was unable to go visit him yet. His grandfather remained in the North. Many of his men had not survived, those who had were likely either following Aragorn or unable to leave their beds either.

"Hullo!" said a surprisingly cheery voice.

Faramir glanced around him but did not immediately see anyone, until the little Hobbit walked into view. "Greetings," he said. "Merry?"

Merry nodded. "You are Strider's son, Faramir, right?"

"I am," Faramir said, sadness and pride in equal measures in his voice.

"I thought so, Pippin figured that you were Boromir's brother, but I could that you were Strider's son. I guess all big folk are alike to our Pip. So, what's kept you here, then?" Merry asked with all of his usual attention.

Faramir started to shrug, but there was a pain at his shoulder that reminded him of the wound he had taken there. It was a good enough reason to give, he figured, as it would likely be too difficult to explain that he had fallen under the "Black Breath" and would have perished if his father hadn't revived him when he did. "What about you?" Faramir asked in return. He was just happy to have someone to converse with at that point.

"Oh, I don't rightly understand it. I think it was something like what happened to Frodo, only not as bad, after all, I stabbed him this time, not the other way round. That one was for cousin Frodo! Anyway, I don't really know whatever happened to me, but I had terrible dreams for what seemed a long time, until Strider woke me up. He's as much as a riddle as old Gandalf when he wants to be. Pip thinks they're related."

Faramir started to laugh and could not help himself, it was perfect irony that he should want to find a way to skirt the issue of the curse of the Nazgûl, only for Merry to talk about it without compunction. Besides, he had often wondered if Elrond and Gandalf weren't related, and now he thought about it, his father could behave rather like the old Wizard at times as well.

Merry seemed delighted that he was able to cheer the sad-looking Faramir. "This garden reminds me of Rivendell. I have to say I was rather jealous of old Bilbo, getting to spend all that time there with Lord Elrond and all the maps he had in his library. I should love a chance to explore that a bit more!"

Faramir agreed and they began to talk of Rivendell and how they both hoped to return there before long. While they talked there was no fear of the future, just what they hoped would be, there was not even a consideration that things could go wrong, or that loved ones would not be returning to them. In that time, there was just confidence that in time all would be well again.

ooo

_linda: I agree, usually when Boromir makes it passed Amon Hen there is practically no mention whatsoever of what happened there. Me, i'm always the one to route out all those festering feelings :) It is good that Fara' has met Imrahil and Mithrellas, it must be so strange for him, only just now learning of the maternal side of his family._

_Elenhin: I do try to be nice to Faramir sometimes, becausei know he's been through too much already, poor lad. Boromir is absolutely miserable, true, and more about him next chapter. Did i tell you i saw GoldenEye this week? Just one of the things i decided to do while i was doing nothing all week. I'm going to miss this week off come Monday! But, once again, you have done the magic of seeing something deep in the past of one of the "bad guys" that shows something more to them. You are right, as usual! It's not a bad idea, seeing if Faramir can spend some time with Boromir, if anything would cheer the poor man it would be that. I shall have to see if i can't negotiate with Ioreth about that._


	59. Enough to Go Around

Faramir had been very fortunate that Ioreth had not caught him out of bed the morning when the host departed for Mordor. Likely even she was watching them go, slightly derelict in her duties. After his chat with Merry, Faramir headed back to his chamber. He had no idea he had weakened so much and it was extremely aggravating to him. Even if he couldn't be there beside his father, as he wished more than anything else, he would have done something to help. The City was an unqualified disaster. From what he could see from the Houses, it looked like the Gate had been completely destroyed and much of the first level was going to have to be rebuilt. Ah, but there he was thinking so far ahead again. Some good it would do to start rebuilding the Old Guesthouse if Sauron ended up getting his Ring back and came to destroy the entire mountain, not just the city at it's base.

Faramir sighed deeply. It had been so nice to forget about such possibilities for a while as he talked with Merry. Faramir was seeing now more clearly than ever just why Gandalf insisted that the Dúnedain Rangers fight so hard to protect the Shire. There it seemed was some of the last real hope and kindliness in a weary and worn Arda. If only he had the strength to drag himself about, he would sit and talk with Boromir for a while, he must surely be miserably lonely, all alone in the "King's House" up there. Or the library… gods, he would not mind this laying about so much if he could only get his hands on a book! That decided it for him; he would ask whoever came in next if it would be possible for him to get a few books.

It just so happened that it was Mithrellas who Faramir next saw. She had managed to bring him a richer soup than simple broth and fresh bread and fruit as well. It was as much of a feast as Faramir had taken in some while. Mithrellas smiled as Faramir nearly pleaded with her for books. Oh, but how proud Fin' would be to hear that! She promised to have Bergil fetch him a few from the library as soon as was possible and asked if there were any particular subjects he was interested in. Faramir's immediate reply was Númenor, star lore, and whatever ancient tales the lad could find and carry.

Mithrellas looked so weary and Faramir asked her to stay a while and share of his meal. It was the least he could do, so he insisted. She looked ready to decline, but guessed that she could rest for a few minutes, and she had not taken any meal since morning, so she accepted. As she went to move a chair closer to the bedside, she saw a package sitting on it wrapped in a rich blue silk and bearing Imrahil's personal standard.

"Faramir?" she asked, holding the parcel. He had not noted anything there earlier, but the morning sun did not shine into that room so it was not a surprise. "This is your uncle's standard; he must have left it for you before leaving," she said handing it to Faramir.

Untying the knot revealed another fine cloth of the same rich blue. Unfolding it carefully, Faramir found that it was a cloak, silver stars embroidered about the hem. "The Prince cannot have meant to leave this for me," Faramir said, feeling the plush texture and gently running his fingers over the embroidery, "surely he was meaning to leave this with Boromir."

Mithrellas was too emotional to say anything for a few moments. She just smiled tearfully, for she would have known that cloak anywhere. "That was Fin's," she said at last, though she spoke so softly Faramir scarcely heard her.

"Then it must be for Boromir. Please, take it to him if you are going to the Citadel, I think he shall appreciate it," Faramir said.

Mithrellas reached to the floor where a piece of parchment had fallen when Faramir unfolded the cloak. The note explained that Eldor had kept the cloak for years after Finduilas's death, but asked Imrahil to keep it when they came to Minas Tirith. In turn, Imrahil wished for Faramir to have it now, since he had naught of his mother but her blood. Faramir's eyes misted over as he held the cloak close to him.

"Lily of the Valley," Faramir said quietly, recognizing the scent that seemed to be infused in the cloth.

"Aye, Fin' wore it often. The healers here often argued her, telling her that it was a poison, but she adored the scent and knew well enough to know that merely wearing the oil would cause her no harm. She often argued back to them, cordially, of course, that unripe potatoes were just as poisonous if not boiled," Mithrellas said with a smile. Finduilas was always one to use her knowledge wisely, but politely.

"This means so much to me, I only hope I shall be able to tell my uncle so," Faramir said. "She must have been so beautiful and intelligent."

"She was, Faramir," Mithrellas said. "There was a beautiful portrait of her in the King's House years ago. If it is still there I shall show you when you are well enough to visit Boromir."

Faramir asked of his brother. He imagined that if he felt weak, Boromir was likely languishing by then. Mithrellas simply told him that Boromir was well, though he was doing a lot of sleeping. It was to be expected and did not concern Faramir too much. As long as he was getting nutrition he would be alright. After all, he had been quite some time, on a couple of occasions without any real sustenance at all. He had hoped that he could go up to the Citadel before long, but he was realizing that he was going to have to alternate rest and training himself back to form. He would likely rest and read the next day, but he was not about to let his muscles atrophy either, Ioreth and her rules be damned!

And so Faramir did his best to take his rest for the remainder of the day and on into the next. Merry visited him and they talked for some while, taking their afternoon repast together. Faramir had decided he would make use of the overstuffed chairs in the room rather than sitting in bed like an invalid and, though it earned him a stern look from Ioreth when she passed the room, he noted that it at least made him feel a lot better about himself. For one thing, he definitely felt more like himself dressed in proper clothing again. He had made up his mind that the next day he would walk in the garden again, perhaps not for a long while, but enough to gradually help him regain strength. He promised himself, and Ioreth, that he would not rush things and that he would take a book and likely sit and read more than walk, but he could not stand to be locked up inside any longer.

Still, even as he was eased to be in the garden, the sun that now shone almost against all hope was almost unkind. Though Faramir was greatly more optimistic than just about everyone in Minas Tirith was at that point, he still could not help but harbor fears about so many who he loved dearly. As he looked north and to the east at the blackness that had not relented over Mordor, he thought of his father, two days out, riding at the helm, putting himself on the front line as ever he did. And yet, he was so proud of him and believed wholeheartedly that if any living man could come away from this "duel" it would be his ada. It was what he tried to impress to his father about being Isildur's heir since their reunion in Rivendell… Isildur _survived_ Sauron.

Faramir sighed deeply and went to sit under a tree; he was beginning to breathe harder and knew it was time to force himself to stop worrying and to rest a while. After a couple of hours, Faramir had already exhausted half the book he brought with him, so he decided it was only fair for him to let the book have a rest from his enthusiastic reading. He stood and stretched a bit, though his muscles protested from the laziness they had been getting used to. He walked over to the eastward wall, warming up in the afternoon sun. Gone was the dark shadow from over the City, and from over him as well.

Yet, looking east he could not help the worry that rose in his heart. He had not permitted himself to really think on it yet, but the question came to his mind anyway: what would he do if he was orphaned by the battled at the Black Gate? He would not fool himself into thinking that he would be brave about it and rise to take the Crown that should have been his father's; it was a lot more likely that he would end up fleeing back to Rivendell and seeking his grandfather's comfort.

It annoyed Faramir that many were referring to him as Steward of Gondor (he never even had the chance to defend himself!), but Gandalf had counseled him to accept it for the time being and had said that, with one of those smiles that was meant to look hopeful, when Aragorn returned to take up the Crown the whole Steward situation would be sorted out properly. Faramir was aware that not many of Minas Tirith's citizens knew that Boromir was alive and in his own bed. There was really only a handful in on it; when he had been brought into the City, to the Houses, he was dressed in Ranger's attire that Faramir had clothed him in at Henneth Annûn, with his hood up, there was no immediately recognizing him. When Mithrellas recognized him, she was determined to keep quite about it, for she feared it would only raise false hopes in the people if he did not survive. There was also the healer who recognized him, but he could not afford him his own private chamber and feared the Steward's retribution should he hear of his son being treated as a commoner. Where Faramir spoke of his "brother", very few knew that he spoke of Boromir, and so it remained largely a secret.

Faramir was pulled from his burgeoning, burdensome thoughts by the Warden of the Houses calling to him. Turning, slightly afraid that the man was coming to scold him for being so long out of bed, Faramir saw with him the saddest, and fairest, lady he had seen. He saw very plainly how terribly hurt this woman was, it was clear in her cornflower eyes. He recognized her as the woman who had brought him food when he was "detained" in Edoras, the one who that parasitic worm of a man had cornered in the stable, the one who had slapped him for trying to help her and who had, as a child, punched his arm for calling her a lady in front of her older brother. "I know you," Faramir said under his breath, he was so moved by the sight of this woman that his breath was literally stolen away from him.

ooo

_Did anyone catch the Shakespearean reference in a scene last chapter? Hint: It's about a King!_

_Grumpy: We shall certainly hope that Bor' starts to ease up on himself soon. That is a good point though, when the Ring is destroyed, perhaps his mood will lift. Time shall tell :)_

_estelle: Ah, here i am, then, back to worrying my readers for the fates of our beloved characters lives. At this point just about anything is possible. Even Faramir seems to be catching the doubting syndrome, though he is doing a lot better than everyone else. Just to drag a little canon back into this (i've gone so AU by now!) i had to wait a couple of days for Eowyn and Faramir to meet properly, but naturally it is there. Your reviews are always appreciated, whenever they come._

_steelelf: I think Faramir could charm Ioreth out of her girdle if he wanted to! However, he knows he needs to work up to taking a trip all the way up to the Citadel. Soon though._

_Elenhin: That just makes me smile, that you are enjoying so much that you will stop for a read, even just a quick one. My thanks. And anyway, suppose you said you made the computer yourself? Would that count as a Scouts project? I've known a number of people who made their computers, my grandpa used to love making computers. _

_linda: I am sure that leading that mission was one of the most difficult things Aragorn ever faced. He knew that a lot of men would volunteer without thinking itover and only realize what they had gotten into about halfway through. Faramir's not having a great time when he thinks on that mission either, he is hopeful, but realistic also. Hope your alerts "get well soon!" I know on some daysi check my messages every hour waiting for alerts!_


	60. A New Sun Rises

Faramir's attention was completely focused on the woman who the Warden had introduced to him as Lady Éowyn of Rohan. He listened thoughtfully to what the Warden had to say, and also Éowyn's own words. It struck him that this woman was feeling some of the same things he was. She too was having a difficult time remaining in bed and doing nothing, she wanted to be of some assistance.

Faramir smiled and with the slightest of signals that Éowyn did not even notice he dismissed the Warden. He found himself surprisingly glad to have a chance to talk with her after having met her so many times with no proper introduction. Though her eyes spoke plainly of some deep hurt, Éowyn seemed to display pride almost as if to ward off Faramir's sympathy. Faramir wished dearly that she would lower her defenses and speak to him of what was troubling her. Even if there was naught he could do to put things right, he knew the value of sharing a burden and he so wanted to ease her sorrow in any way that he could.

It chilled him that Éowyn spoke as though she had desired nothing more than to die in battle and that surviving was an unbelievable failure to her. Faramir found her so lovely to look upon, but her misery absolutely pierced his heart. It hurt him to think that someone should truly wish to die in battle andreminded him of Boromir's words at Henneth Annûn. He could almost understand it coming from Boromir, the man who had been a soldier all of his life, but from a lady, and a beautiful lady no less, it was a distressing thing to witness. Moreover, Faramir knew that Boromir had felt the need to redeem himself in some way, but that did not seem the case for Éowyn.

Faramir was determined to find some way to cheer this lady. He noted that she said her windows did not face to the north and east, though few windows in the Houses did, it being thought that the sight of Mordor would do very little for the convalescing. He promised to secure her a room with a view that she preferred. Though at first it was hard for him to understand that she should wish to look toward Mordor,he reminded himself that he too was spending a good deal of time watching that way as if trying to watch over his father and uncles and Mithrandir. Her brother had gone with them and Faramir understood.

Having secured Faramir's promise to be relocated and his almost reluctant sanction that she needn't be confined to her chamber, Éowyn simply thanked him and bid him farewell. Faramir was left a little mystified by the encounter. He had rather hoped that she might walk with him for a while, but she actually seemed rather offended that he would seek her company. Faramir wondered if he stood any chance of ever getting to know the woman, outside of what offended her; so far he knew not to call her a lady, thank her for bringing him supper, offer her help and protection from leering, devious worms, and now he added to that list asking her to walk with him.

Faramir sighed deeply, looking at the book in his hand and wondering if she would have been affronted had he lent it to her to help alleviate the strain of recuperation by "imprisonment" in the Houses of Healing. He was not even sure if it was not just something about him that put her off so.

So Faramir continued to walk about the garden, pondering what exactly had just taken place and he found himself glancing back toward the Houses even more frequently than he glanced eastward. When he began to feel himself wearying he went back to his chambers and was pleased to see the Warden leaving him some leaves for a tea. He asked him just what he knew of Éowyn, but the Warden in turn referred him to Merry, saying that he had been the with company from Rohan.

Faramir asked Merry to join him for supper that evening and together they talked much and Faramir began to understand some of Éowyn's conflicting fears. Now he only wondered how he could ever help her feel at ease. Still, Faramir was never one to back away from a challenge. After supper Faramir and Merry walked in the garden and continued their discussion. He hoped that he would see Éowyn there, but he did not.

Having thought back earlier to Boromir in Henneth Annûn, Faramir was reminded that he had wanted to ask Merry to visit Boromir. He knew that Boromir had not taken it lightly that, while in the thrall of the Ring, he had reached for the boat that would take him back to Minas Tirith as he watched the Hobbits being carried off by Uruks. He hoped that a visit from Merry would give his brother an unexpected cheer until he managed to get away long enough to visit as well.

At first Merry seemed hesitant, but when he thought that Pippin had visited Boromir, Pippin, who had gone with the March to the Black Gate, he thought again and agreed that he should visit Boromir. After all, he recalled that even Lord Elrond felt the pressure of the Ring and, according to Sam, so too had Lady Galadriel.

So the next day Merry went to visit with Boromir, and Faramir went out into the garden. It was his hope to spend more time there each day until he felt able to go up to the Citadel. He dearly looked forward to spending some time with Boromir again. He was almost surprised to see Éowyn standing by the wall that morning and, taking a deep breath, hoping that it would not earn him a further injury, he asked her to walk with him.

This time however, to Faramir's wonder, she agreed. Though he did not question her change of heart, he did note that she looked at him with somewhat sad and searching eyes rather frequently as they spoke, and even as they walked quietly. When they parted company later that day, Faramir wished he'd have thought to bring a book along that he could have lent her, he'd hoped it would give them something to discuss, or at the least it could be an excuse for him to see her again at some time.

He needn't have feared though, for as it turned out, each morning for the next five days when he walked in the garden, she was there also. Faramir felt as though he was making excellent progress in his recovery and was now all the more keen to speak with his brother and tell him of this lady who had certainly caught his interest. Faramir wondered if his brother would be awake at all in the next few days when he hoped to coax Ioreth into letting him out for a few hours. According to Merry's report, he'd gone to visit with Boromir, but the man had been sound asleep the whole time. Merry didn't have the heart to let on that it was rather obvious to him that Boromir was only pretending to sleep, he didn't quite know if Boromir just didn't want to talk to him or if he felt too remorseful to. Nor would Merry say that, to his eyes, Boromir looked less well than when he was taken for dead at Amon Hen.

Faramir was a bit concerned that, according to everyone else, Boromir had been sleeping a lot, but then considering what he had been through it was scarcely surprising. He had heard that Boromir had suffered a broken ankle and it would take a lot of healing time. He could guess ease enough that that was what had him left behind in Osgiliath. Still, Faramir trusted in the nurses and healers of Minas Tirith. They had seen him through well enough, after all.

On the fifth day since Faramir was finally properly introduced to the lady he had met so many times before, the weather of spring had returned to it's old tricks, turning the fair and sunny days that had prevailed since the victory on the Pelennor back to the chill and dismal. The hopes of many faded like the sun behind a cloud as no word had come from the moved out host for days. Still Faramir held out hope, albeit a fool's hope, that before long all would be set right and he would see his father finally take his rightful place.

He was standing with Éowyn that day; both were looking eastward and, unbeknownst to the other, both thinking of the same person. And yet, every so often Faramir could feel the lady's gaze upon him. When she shivered and wrapped her arms about her from the chill wind that came off the river, Faramir stood speechless for a moment before coming back to his senses. He had noticed that effect more than once when he was around her.

"Are you cold?" he asked softly, and rather pointlessly, as it was obvious that she was indeed.

Éowyn opened her mouth to say no; ordinarily her pride would have demanded that she deny any sort of "weakness." But as she met Faramir's gentle grey eyes, she seemed unable to belie anything to him.

Faramir, knowing that the Warden of the Houses had been watching them as they walked for days, made a point of looking around a bit before looking toward the healer's window and signaling to him. He quietly asked to have fetched from his chamber a cloak which was wrapped in a cloth bearing the sigil of the Price of Dol Amroth. When it was brought to him, he set the cloak about Éowyn's shoulders. Faramir found himself having difficulty remembering to breathe as he looked upon her.

Just then an ominous blackness rose up in the east like a wave. It was so alike to the telling of and dreams of the demise of the Isle of Númenor that Faramir often had that he could not help just looking at it and for a moment, he felt nothing. Éowyn, too, was staring at the engulfing darkness, and she was trembling despite the warmth of the cloak. On an impulse Faramir held her close to him and he was of a sudden overwhelmed with hope and joy that was soon felt by everyone in the City. Some inclination told him that, despite the vast dark, something great had been accomplished.

It was proved to him when the Shadow was suddenly dispelled on a fierce gale of wind and the sun shone brightly. A giant Eagle came to them singing that the Dark Tower was destroyed and that the King was victorious. Faramir could have fallen to his knees and wept he was so overjoyed! It was almost unbelievable, the _impossible_ had been accomplished.

Kissing Éowyn upon her fair brow, Faramir promised that he would come to her again before long, but now with this hopeful news he wished to go quickly to Boromir. Faramir did not even stop to let one of the healer's know that he was freeing himself from the "prison" as he had come to fondly term the Houses of Healing.

Faramir practically ran up to the Citadel, but he had to slow himself from breathlessness as he crossed to the King's House. Even so, he was fueled by absolute joy and so did not feel as worn out and weak as he might have otherwise. Faramir hurried to his brother's chambers, though he went quietly. Having been raised around Elves and then serving as a Ranger, it was just in Faramir's nature to move silently. As it was, Boromir did not hear Faramir approach and did not have time to slip back into his "sound asleep" pretense. It was just as well, for Faramir would have seen through it anyway.

Ever since his uncle had left, Boromir had been getting by without actually having to speak to anyone at any point. Every time he heard someone approach he would retreat to his shroud of sleep and they would leave him alone with only a few quietly spoken words that he had so far managed to block out of his memory. He would eat a bit, only enough to keep the nurses and Mumma 'Rel from worrying about his health, but only when no one was around. At times he would even pull himself upright, not for any real reason, but usually just to keep his rapidly deteriorating muscles from aching too much. He knew he had lost a lot of muscle just laying around for weeks and that upset him almost as much as everything else.

Now Boromir was sitting up in bed, but leaning heavily against the headboard. He had waken from a rare real sleep to the sounds of shouts and singing. It sounded to him as though someone had brought the City some very good news and he chanced sitting up for a few moments, figuring that in such celebration he would be safe from anyone bothering to come see him. Of course, Boromir forgot to count on his little brother, whose first thought, when he recovered from hearing that his father was victorious, was to go immediately to Boromir.

"Well, I am glad I caught you awake!" Faramir said happily. Finally, things were right with the world.

For a moment Boromir panicked. He did not expect to be "caught awake" and certainly not by Faramir. He had heard that Faramir was well, but that he had been quite seriously stricken and would need much rest. Now here he was and Boromir seemed to not react right away. He had been dreading the day that Faramir would make his visit because for all the guilt and shame he had to endure when everyone else had come to wish him well, he knew this would be the worst. He had promised to Faramir that he would look after his father, and himself. Boromir felt he had done neither. A part of him wanted to either refuse to speak with Faramir and send him away, or to pretend to faint out cold, though he figured the latter would be a little too obvious.

And yet a part of him had been hoping so much for his brother to come to see him. He longed for the understanding that Faramir seemed able to offer anyone, no matter how guilt-ridden. It was that part of him that needed forgiveness and recognized that his defenses were utterly shattered that allowed him to let himself break when Faramir had finally taken a good look at him and realized how much thinner and more drawn he had become.

"Oh, Boromir," Faramir soothed, going and embracing his big brother. "Everything is going to be well now, we have prevailed, once and for all!"

ooo

_linda: You got it, Henry V. Glad your alerts have returned, i know how i can rely on mine!_

_Elenhin: Oh, i can get so frustrated when i go to the trouble to write something like that only to have the page suddenly disappear when i hit enter. I sometimes wonder where all that just went, for as surely as it was there only a moment ago, it had to have gone somewhere. Matter can not be destroyed, only changed, after all. But i think i have a rather good idea... i think they wind up in the Kingdom of Dust. I can think of nowhere else they would disappear to!_

_estelle: You are as welcome as always. I hope this chapter suited your liking!_


	61. Misery's Cure is Hope

For a long time Boromir simply lay there and allowed himself to feel a sort of vulnerability that threatened to overwhelm him, without feeling bitter toward himself for it. His little brother was with him again and somehow, though Boromir had been dreading it without reason, Faramir's presence was soothing to him. It was the first time in a long, long time that he had not simply wanted his visitor to go quickly and leave him alone with his grief.

"We are victorious, Boromir," Faramir said for the second time, softly, after a long silence. "All that we have fought and sacrificed so much for, for so long, has finally been won."

"At what cost?" Boromir said in a choked voice.

"The eagle did not say how many were lost -" Faramir began to say.

"I do not mean at the Gates. I mean… I mean in the future. Men have died, yes, but they are the fortunate ones who have peace now. I began to understand something, Faramir. I heard Elves speak of death as the Gift of Men and at first I could not comprehend how anyone could call dying a gift. Now, though, after laying here like this, I do know."

"Boromir, peace is ours, Mordor is overthrown, the Shadow is gone, and you, my brother, are a long, long way from death," Faramir said confidently.

"What I am is a long way from health. I am miserable, Faramir. I accept that no one is just going to allow me to die, but what am I to do? Lay here interminably, growing weaker and weaker? This is why I wanted to meet my end out there in the field; nothing ever frightened me as much as dying in my bed, nothing." There was a true sadness in Boromir's eyes, which refused to meet his brother's, and Faramir believed that he understood where that fear came from.

"You are not dying, Bor'. And you do not have to lay there and continue waste away. It will take time, a lot of time, but you can recover and be as well and strong as ever you were. I will do all I can to help you, but you must also help yourself. Boromir, I love you and I need my big brother. I've only just heard that my father survived the impossible, do not let me lose you now."

"Faramir, I am sorry to you," Boromir said, looking up to Faramir's eyes. "I wish you had not come here with such gladness only to have to see me in such wretchedness. It is not fair to one who has been better than me in all of this. I should be joyful as well, I know that I should. I should be rejoicing that the War is won and that Gondor will have her King again. Can you know how much I had wanted to see this day? For years now, long before I had any idea that he even existed. And I know that I should be glad for you, that your father lives, but I simply can no longer remember gladness."

"I swear that you will heal, brother. I know that you have survived much, much more than most men have a right to survive, but must there not be a reason for that? I shall soon have to take up the office that many believe is mine by inheritance, but I should much rather do so if I am first able to tell the people that their Steward lives and that I am only discharging your duties until you are able."

Boromir again lowered his eyes back to the pillow he laid against. "I was wrong when I said that there was nothing that frightened me as much as dying in my bed," he said gloomily. "Half the reason that I always wanted a little a brother was because I wished that I wouldn't have to be the sole heir to the Stewardship. I named you my heir because I knew you would be equal to the task. I am not, it would crush me as terribly as it crushed my…." Boromir paused for a long moment, apparently forcing back a knot that had formed in his throat. "No one has told me what happened to him, Faramir. I know that he is gone, but no one has said how."

Now was Faramir's turn to face what he had been dreading. "None have told me either, Boromir. Honestly, I think they are avoiding the subject. Even Mithrandir would not say aught beyond that he had not survived." Faramir himself had hoped to avoid the subject, he feared that it might truly hinder Boromir's recovery and now that he saw for himself just what state his half-brother was in, that fear seemed even more real to him.

Boromir, on the other hand, really seemed to take it in stride. "If he died in battle, then all those years of being tied to the Stewardship were well atoned for. My father was a soldier and a warrior, a tactician even, but never a statesman. It was one reason why I have for many years wished to see Gondor with a King again; that someone better suited should come and remove my father's burden."

Faramir personally believed that, though the Stewardship itself might be an altogether taxing position, the source of Denethor's real burden was a palantir. Faramir had no proof that there was one within the Citadel, but enough of the signs and symptoms were present within that place for him to be reasonably assured of it. There were no illusions in his mind about the way Denethor always just happened to move him and his Rangers just before an "unforeseen" attack was unleashed. And still, despite all of that, Faramir knew just how Boromir must feel to have lost his father, for he had feared terribly that he might have to face the same loss.

"I wish that none of us should have had to lose so much," Faramir said softly. "The history of it goes all the way back to Numenor, to Valinor, and even to the beginnings of our world, if one speaks of evil greater than Sauron alone."

"Always you speak so like to an Elf. I often had wondered how someone so young can so often sound wiser than a roomful of aged councilors," Boromir said, reaching out and holding his brother's hand. "Mumma used to talk like that, too. She always had something wise and comforting to say. I was always safe with her, no matter what. It must explain why I so took to you, you must have reminded me of her without my even knowing it."

"I can only believe that this is part of the reason I have always felt so close to you as well, brother mine," Faramir said sincerely.

"Mumma must have been pressed for watching over us both until we found one another. The odds were so against us ever meeting, Faramir. I do not know what should have ever become of me if I did not meet you, though. Until you came here this day all I had really wanted was to be left alone to die, I thought I was due that last dignity if naught else. Now I think I should rather be able to stand with you, if ever I am able to stand again."

"Aye, you will be," Faramir assured. "However, I should think that if you want to speed up the process, you should do the exact opposite of whatever these healers want you to do. They do well enough mostly, but at times I do not know how they get their notions. As for our mother, I am certain that she watches over us even now."

"She does, Fara'," Boromir said, looking back over his brother's shoulder.

Faramir turned to see that on the wall by the door was a life-sized tapestry of a fair woman by the sea, wearing the same blue cloak embroidered with silver stars that Imrahil had left him. With her gentle smile and loving eyes it almost did look as though Finduilas was there watching her two sons even as they spoke. Faramir was so enraptured by the emotions that overflowed him as he looked for the first time in his memory upon the woman who had borne him that he could do naught but look at her for a long while.

It was then Boromir's turn to grip his brother's hand in support. "It was much more vibrant as I remembered it, though I suppose things are in our memories. That used to hang in the Merethrond, and I really do remember that cloak being much richer and her hair more golden. When I came back here I did not immediately notice that it had been moved, well nothing has adorned that hall in years, but I found it one day, hanging in some dark back hallway like the ones they put up just to keep the draft away in the winter. I guess that when father came back from Dol Amroth he had it taken away at once, as though he never wanted the light of day to shine on her image again. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. So I brought it up here myself."

Faramir noted that Boromir was starting to sound a little bit bitter and thought he ought to try to field his mood. "I am not so sure of that," he said. "If this was in the hall and in the sun, I think that perhaps your father might have had it moved to preserve it, so that the sun did not fade it further."

Boromir smiled slightly and Faramir couldn't help but feel that another pitched battle had been won. "You are not only eternally optimistic, but always do you see a way that others might overlook. Will you stay here, Fara'? If I let you tell our people that I am here and recovering, will you take up residence here? I mean, it won't make any sense for you to remain in the Houses if you are well enough and supposed to take on -"

"Peace, Boromir!" Faramir said holding up a hand. "You needn't plead your suit. Of course I will stay here. Besides, I would do anything to get out of that chamber. As much as I truly appreciate all that the healers and nurses have done for me, I am getting a little crowded. As to filling in for your duties of Stewardship, I daresay you are better prepared than I, but I will do all I can. I have a good enough idea of how such a place is to be directed, though Imladris is not exactly Gondor, and, well… I think none do things the same way Erestor does."

"You have patience, you will do exceedingly well. I think all that will need to be handled is preparations for your father's return, and then nobody has to be Steward anymore." Boromir sounded utterly relieved by that prospect.

"What will you do, then?" Faramir asked.

"You are presupposing that I will ever again have the strength to do _anything_. If it weren't for all this infirmity, I should go right back to doing what I always have done. Though, truly I know it is all just a wish, I think if I could ever be a soldier again, I would go back to Dol Amroth."

For the rest of the day and on into the evening the brothers sat talking of what the future days might hold and how different everything would be without the threat of Mordor looming over every thought. Together they took their meals and after supper Faramir went down to the Houses to collect his meager possessions to bring back to the King's House. Boromir told him to make himself comfortable in the guest room that adjoined his own; it was the room that would have been Faramir's had his father left him in Minas Tirith all those years ago.

ooo

_At last i have this chapter done. I have been without my regular computer for a week now, that was the delay with this. With a bit o' luck i should have my computer back in operation this evening. However, next week i will be away for three days, so i might be slow for another update. This is such a busy month, and this story has taken longer than all my other ones, but bear with me, i promise it will be completed!_

_linda: Thank you. I do my best to keep most things canon and i often refer to the books over and over and over on just one paragraph._

_steelelf: Fara' is, of course, always sweet. _

_Elenhin: I had a feeling you would enjoy the previous chapter. You are quite right, Boromir is indeed trapped in himself, but Faramir has just made all the difference in the world for him._

_estelle: I am thrilled to be able to elicit such enthusiasm! I do beg your pardon for the wait between chapters, and i hope that your excitement hasn't cooled too much!_


	62. A Son's Duty

When Faramir awoke the next day to the bright and strong sunlight and the happy sounds of the people of the City in joy (something that had rarely ever been heard in recent history) he felt cheerful and relieved and thankful. When he looked in on his brother and saw him sitting upright, talking happily with Lady Mithrellas, and truly smiling, Faramir knew beyond a doubt that the Shadow was utterly vanquished from Arda.

Faramir felt as though his heart might burst for elation when he read the first message that had been sped from the Black Gates, surely immediately after the victory. It was truly the most reassuring thing that Faramir could have hoped for since the beginning of this dismal war: to be able to read his father's own words in his own hand.

Faramir's first reaction was to pack a few simple things and go immediately to the field at Cormallen, but when his brother asked him what news he'd received and it came back to Faramir that he had others to think about at the moment, not to mention the responsibilities of Steward _pro tempore_, whatever that might entail. Faramir set aside the compelling longing to gallop out to the lawn by Henneth Annûn to see for himself that his ada was really alive and well.

Faramir handed to letter to Boromir who smiled an almost sad smile. "What are you waiting for, little brother?" he asked as Faramir looked eastward out of the window.

"I would go if I could," Faramir said, not sounding quite as happy as Boromir.

"Nothing's stopping you," Boromir pointed out.

Faramir shook his head though, turning his attention back to his brother. "I can not. Someone must remain here in command, and since they are calling me Steward, it falls to me. I can not leave you to do this when you need to be taking your rest." What Faramir left out was that he feared that leaving his brother might allow a relapse into that dark mood Boromir had been stricken by for weeks.

"Faramir," Boromir said insistently, pointing at the parchment he still held, "this is a direct missive from not just your father, but from our _King_!"

"It wouldn't be fair to the people if I -"

"Faramir…" Boromir continued, beginning to sound a little annoyed with his brother's constant attention to duty. Some things were just more important and even the Captain-General knew that, thanks mostly to his mumma and uncle. "You have been more fortunate during this campaign than any other man I know. I would think that you, of all, would appreciate that. Anyone who can rejoice now is all but obliged to do so – it is _why_ so many gave their lives, and why I am here now with, of _all_ things, a broken ankle! Not all of us still have our fathers, Far'. Even the son of the Steward can not escape being orphaned."

"Ah, Bor', I am sorry, you know that -"

"I do not expect your pity, I expect you to go and do your _duty_ as a son who loves his father before you get into the business of dealing with the party invitations and decorations for your daddy's crowning ceremony. Besides, you shall have to find out what day to hold the party on; would it not be just fine to invite everyone to the King's party but the King?"

Faramir could not keep himself from chuckling, his big brother just had that ability and he had sorely missed that trait in him. "Are you going to let me finish a sentence this time?" he asked, waxing (teasingly) impatient.

"I just did, did I not?" Boromir responded. "Faramir, go. I am here and even if I can not leave this bloody bed I think my _imperious_ presence shall be enough for the people. Likely as not they won't even notice. Go, if only for a day. We can sneak you out if we have to, after all, it wouldn't be the first time you were smuggled out of Minas Tirith to leave me and be with your _ada_. Why do you think your father bothered going all the way to the Black Gates without the expectation of coming back if not with the hope that in doing so he might be able to make the future safe for you?"

Faramir embraced his brother and thanked him for talking some sense into him, though Boromir felt that he hadn't nearly returned the favor Fara' had done him the day before. So it was agreed that Faramir would leave that evening for Cair Andros and then on to Cormallen. Boromir insisted that Faramir take the cloak he had received in Lórien, the hithlain garment reminding Faramir so vividly of his childhood.

That evening, Faramir was ready to leave the City, if only for just a short time, to be with his family. It was to be a complete secret and none but Boromir and Mithrellas knew that he was leaving, for as acting Steward it was really not supposed to be permissible for Faramir to leave Minas Tirith. Merry had gone earlier in the day when supply wagons left, heading for Cormallen, but even he did not know that Faramir would be coming along a few hours later.

As Faramir bid his half-brother a short-term farewell, he found himself wondering if Lady Éowyn had gone when Merry went. He knew that her brother was there at Cormallen and so he imagined that surely she had gone along as well. He could not rightly explain it, but he hoped greatly that he would see her there.

As it happened, however, as Faramir moved downward through the levels of the city, night falling as he went wrapped in an Elven cloak, Éowyn stood watching from the garden in the Houses. She had chosen not to heed Éomer's pleading call for her to come to Cormallen, having heard that the Steward would remain in the city as well. She could not understand, then, why he was leaving and doing so in a rather covert manner.

She would say naught of it though, and simply looked on as he took the reins of one of his brother's horses, which was being exercised as part of the crew assigned to renew the Pelennor, from one of the stable hands who was walking her back to the City. Faramir was able to do so only because he knew Boromir's personal approval code – it was one that few knew and even fewer wished to have cause to repeat. Boromir was devious when he wanted to be and his special, secret code was one that could make even battle-hardened warriors blush.

At first, Éowyn looked disdainfully as Faramir seemed to toy with the tack the horse wore, but when she saw that he was actually removing the saddle and bridle she was bewildered. When he mounted without assistance and took off across the Pelennor like a zephyr without any riding gear whatsoever, looking almost as if he was a _part_ of the horse, she stood in absolute awe.

She found herself hoping that Faramir would only be gone overnight that she might see him again soon and ask where he ever learned to ride like that. She had never seen anyone, not even the most skilled of her people, the famed Horse-lords themselves, so completely at ease with a horse… and yet, she could not help but remember that Lord Aragorn, too, had seemed to be able to communicate with her cousin Théodred's horse as if it were his peer. Glancing up to the East where it had become dark and starry, Éowyn turned and quickly returned to her chamber, suddenly wishing that she had not requested a room with an eastern view.

Faramir rode on through the night toward Cair Andros where he would spend a few hours resting and taking breakfast after being ferried across to the island. There he met Merry and a number of others who would be going on to Cormallen and were bearing many supplies to take there. Merry was a bit surprised to see Faramir, for he too had heard that the "Steward" was required to remain in the city, but Faramir assured him that Boromir was well enough that he was rather sure he could not make a claim on his inheritance. Faramir was a bit disappointed to hear that Éowyn had not ridden out with them. Merry was sorely tempted to tell him that she had stayed behind because she had heard that Faramir would remain in the City, but he decided to keep quiet about that for the time being.

It was not a long ride from east ferry of Cair Andros to Cormallen, the field being just a few miles from the river and not far from Henneth Annûn. Along the way, spring was just beginning to show its signs in the morning light. Faramir had traveled that territory ever since he came to Gondor at 20, but never had a spring there looked more beautiful and potent than it did now that the Shadow was gone. The ride was refreshing and to see Ithilien looking as healthful as he'd always imagined it should was heartening to Faramir. Many were the times that he had thought that the land there reminded him of Rivendell and he thought that he could feel a lingering Elven presence there from an earlier age. It was often a rare comfort on the lean winter patrols to think that if he could not be with his beloved family in the Elven environment that he was used to, Ithilien was likely the next best place… even if it was next door to the _worst_ place.

As Faramir was thinking of family and the land that he would always refer to as "home" in the north, he looked up ahead on the road and could see the lawn open up before him and he could see the pavilions all about. He saw that by far the largest of them was flying a banner of Gondorian colors, though it was obviously of Elven make. Faramir had to smile, he knew how his father detested sleeping in a pavilion, he always said that the last thing one wanted to do while one slept was to draw attention to oneself. He saw them as a security threat rather than a security insurance.

That was why, then, Faramir could see his father standing outside the grand tent, talking and laughing with Elven twins. For a moment, Faramir just looked on. How, he wondered, had he ever walked away from his family all those years ago? Right there ahead of him was all he ever really needed in the world. It could only have been fate that moved him on to meet his half-brother, for when he thought about it he knew that he would never have left the comfort and security of his father and uncles without some subconscious intervention.

Faramir whispered to the horse he was riding and hopped down. He walked into the camp and, his brother's hithlain cloak still about him, nearly escaped Elladan and Elrohir's notice as he walked toward his father. The twins saw him, but did not react, having seen him signal them to be quiet about it. It took all of their willpowers not to smile or give him away in some manner, but Faramir was only just behind his father when he reached out and tugged at a lock of his ada's hair.

Aragorn turned, wondering who would greet him in such a manner, and, seeing his beloved son, dropped the cup of tea he'd been sipping and held his son in his arms. It had not been so long ago that he did not think he would live to see his child ever again.

"Well done, adar," was all that Faramir could manage to say, a bit of an understatement for this reunion, but he was a bit too choked for any more than that.

ooo

_My humblest apologies to all my readers for taking so long to get this chapter up. I have been a little busy the last few weeks and every time i had a chance to write i just wasn't in the right frame of mind. _

_Elenhin: You are so very right, Faramir really is the world to Bor'. He is that little brother that he always wanted to have as well as being his closest friend and someone who he can trust enough to be himself around - so much so that he can even let go of his worries and self-doubts because he knows that Fara' will be there for him._

_linda: Of course Aragorn is back soon. Can't leave him out for long, he's the King! Thing is, it's only when he's not in a chapter that he gets any rest from my torture. Poor guy._

_estelle: Heheh... i've had to rush to get ready for work a time or two because i was trying to get in another paragraph. More often though i end up not getting to sleep until quite late because i stay up writing. I also tend to write a little bit at work when things are quiet (which is why this chapter took so long) and have spent pretty much entire weekends writing, instead of cleaning, getting out of the house, eating, etc. _

_WindStar: Welcome! Ever so glad you have enjoyed so far. Hope to hear from you again._


	63. Everybody Here Wants You

Before Faramir knew what was happening, he was not only being hugged by his beloved father, but also being just about squashed by the twins. It was plain that many such reunions were taking place all over Cormallen. Many, many people had been at Cair Andros to cross the Anduin's east bank when Faramir arrived there in the early hours. Faramir could hear Pippin shouting excitedly to his cousin.

In a short time there was a small crowd drawn toward Faramir, wanting to greet him. Faramir wondered if this was why he had bothered sneaking so secretively out of the City. A number of Men who he had fought with were at Cormallen and glad to see him again, though a much greater number had not even lived long enough to see the victory on the Pelennor.

Damrod was still resting in the Houses of Healing, though Mablung had come along with the March and asked of his friend. A lot of men asked after loved ones who had not come to the field and for a while Faramir felt a bit overwhelmed, for many of the people asked about he did not even know. He felt rather relieved when the crowd about him receded and it was just Imrahil enquiring about Boromir. That question, at least, Faramir felt qualified, and thankful, to be able to answer.

For some while they talked of many things, and Imrahil was very pleased to finally get to know his long-lost nephew after so many years of wondering who it was that his sister referred to on her death bed as her "little Faramir." Gandalf noticed Aragorn looking a slight bit jealous that everyone else seemed to be taking up his son's time and tactfully steered the King-to-be toward the tent where the two Hobbits were sleeping. Merry was going to need someone to explain all that had happened anyway, or at least someone more understandable than Pippin.

As Faramir and his newfound uncle were talking, a man came up to Faramir, saying, "Pardon me, Lord Faramir? I heard that you are come from Minas Tirith and… I just wondered if perhaps you had word of my sister, Éowyn of Rohan?"

Faramir wondered if others could see the sparkle that he felt come to his eyes or notice how his breath hitched just slightly when he heard that name spoken. He felt a bit flustered by his involuntary reaction and told himself not to act like a drunken lad. Faramir simply nodded and said that the last he had seen Éowyn she was doing well and walking the garden.

"Yet she did not come?" Éomer said, looking around worriedly.

"I am told that she did not," Faramir replied. "I am sure that she merely needed rest," he said, hoping to ease the man's concern. "I know that I was exceedingly tired and have been resting much more than usual, I am sure that a lady would need even more re-"

"You do not know my sister," Éomer said quickly. She had been upset that she could not get up immediately and join her brother on the suicide quest to the Morannon, and likely she would have if Ioreth hadn't dosed her tea to make her sleepy.

Faramir, on the other hand, smiled, thinking Éomer couldn't have been more wrong. He was well aware that Éowyn did not think that she needed any more rest at all, but it was very likely that she did, in fact, need a lot more rest. If Boromir needed his rest, then surely so too did Éowyn, for they were clearly each as stubborn as the other.

When Eomer turned and left, still looking no more consoled by Faramir's attempt to reassure him, Imrahil turned to Faramir with a slightly knowing smile, as though he read something in his nephew's eyes very clearly. He knew that look, for he had seen the same glint in his sister's eyes whenever he would mention Eldor, the best horse-handler in Dol Amroth. As Imrahil looked at Faramir he wondered that it was possible that so many years had gone by. He shook his head to think that he was 64 years old already, that his oldest boy was only four years younger than his nephew, and that his baby girl was already 20 years old.

Imrahil missed Finduilas so much in the moment, thinking that had she been there he would have told her what fine men both her sons had grown to become. He lamented that Fin' had not known her child and that he himself had only just met him, but he knew well enough to know that everything happens as it does for a reason, and now he intended to look to the future and hoped that he and both of his nephews could be very close from then on.

Imrahil rose from where they had been sitting near a fire and smiled vaguely. "I think that I have kept you away from your father for long enough, Faramir. It is he you came to see and celebrate with, after all, and I apologize. However, in my defense I must say that I had not expected to be coming away from this mission, though I doubt many did expect it, and when I saw you here I was eager to greet my nephew. When you return to the City, please take my love to Boromir as well and tell him that I am proud to hear that he is recovering."

Faramir gave his word, assuring his uncle that Boromir would be very happy to have word from him. It had gotten chilly as the afternoon wore on, even by the fire, and Faramir reached to wrap his brother's cloak around him as he stood and went to look for his father. Faramir sighed realizing that evening would be falling soon. He had been very happy to have been able to spend some time with his uncle, but now he dearly wanted to see his father as well and he knew that he would still need to sleep the night and leave in the morning before his absence attracted too much attention in Minas Tirith.

"Try the further end of the field," quietly said the familiar old voice of the now-White Wizard as Faramir walked by, not even noticing him. "Always does he seek to be alone in a crowd…."

Faramir nodded with a smile and whispered, "_Hannon le_, Mithrandir." Faramir went on ahead and indeed he saw a cloaked and hooded figure near the tree line, looking like he was indeed attempting to be alone. Faramir had seen that mood much, much less then others who knew Aragorn, but he still knew it for what it was, and knew that while to everyone else it was a signal to let him be, to Faramir it was more of an invitation for a walk. Before Faramir's birth and after he departed Imladris at the age of 20, Aragorn walked Arda mostly alone. For 20 years, however, whenever Aragorn had wanted to be "alone" he usually spent that time with his son. Faramir decided it was time to resuscitate that custom.

"Feel like taking a stroll?" Faramir said walking up to his ada.

Aragorn gave his son a strange look, then began to chuckle to himself. "Forgive me, I thought you said a _troll_. My mind seems to be elsewhere this day, ion-nin. I would love to have a walk, yes," he said with what seemed to be a slightly sad smile as he remembered how he and his son had walked together since Faramir's first day of life.

"I know just what you mean…" Faramir said as they stepped under the limbs of the beeches.

ooo

_Hannon le - thank you_

_I want to thank everyone for being patient with me. I have been so busy the last month and probably will be for the next couple months still. This is my busy season right now. But, fear not, i have no intentions of giving up. Even if it takes me a couple weeks to update, i will do so. Also my apologies for a shorter chapter. I just thought i had come to a good stopping place for the moment._

_estelle: Everything should start coming together now for the close. I am glad you are enjoying so much and hope that you continue to do so. I think you will enjoy the next chapter, whenever i finally have time to get it done._

_linda: Thank you kindly. Boromir was indeed very unselfish, and quite understanding. He understands how close Faramir and Aragorn have always been and knows how important it is that Faramir spend some time with him after sucha difficult time. Sorry for not clarifying about hithlain. Hithlain is an Elven fiber, it's what Sam's rope was made of and most likely the same material the cloaks were made of._

_Elenhin: Yeah, Fara' and Eowyn aren't very direct about things at the moment. We will see next chapter how Bor' has held up without his brother around to keep up his spirits. I guess Boromir and Sharpe do indeed have a lot in common. I think Boromir picked his code not only because he would get a laugh out of it everytime but also to keep others from using it unless utterly necessary. I think Fara is too used to Bor's tricks to bebothered about it though. Anyway, this story will start winding down soon (i think), but more to come, hopefully sooner than later._

_grumpy: Yes, everything seems to be going rather well. One always has towonder if that will last or not._


	64. Upholding the Kingdom

As Faramir and his father walked under the beeches of Henneth Annûn they talked of many things. Though Aragorn really preferred not to go into many details of the events of just a few days earlier, he did tell Faramir of Frodo and Sam. For as amazed as Faramir was when he heard that his father had survived and was victorious, he was actually doubly shocked to hear that the Ring bearer and his loyal "body guard" had lived.

The evening wore on and both men were growing tired. It had been a long, hard struggle for everyone, but these two especially so. "I suppose we should return to camp, I know you need to rest before leaving in the morning," Aragorn said, not sounding very happy about the prospect.

Faramir smiled and said, "this must be ada the King talking. Ada the Ranger would never have uttered those words. Ada the Ranger always thought it was a lot more fun to sleep outside and let everyone worry for a night."

Aragorn returned his son's smile, looking around and saying, "I believe you are right. This looks like a comfortable place, does it not?"

"Comfortable enough for a Ranger," Faramir replied. It was often teased that Sammath Naur was comfortable enough for a Ranger, provided there was no enemy in the vicinity. However, the joke was a slight bit too close to reality at the moment.

Laying there beside his father in the woods in the night, covered by his brother's hithlain cloak, recalled the many times when father and son had patrolled with the Dûnedain Rangers so many years ago. Faramir had not even been quite "of age" yet, but he knew as much as, if not more than, any of the Rangers of which his father was, reluctantly, Chief. "It had seemed that so many years were between us," Faramir said in the darkness. "I had far too much time to dwell on things in the Houses of Healing, and I was scared that it had been too long between my leaving home and returning. I still almost completely regret it. If not for Boromir…."

"You only did the same thing that I did," Aragorn said. "You know that I never blamed you, I am the one who has never had the _tact_ to bring things up in a way that is gentle to others. When that troll nearly had me crushed, all I could think of was how unfair it would be if you had to take up the Crown."

"You know, it probably won't be so bad," Faramir mused. "You will finally have a chance to rest that aching shoulder."

Aragorn couldn't help but smile slightly at the way Faramir seemed to ignore the hints he was trying to throw out. Aragorn was running hot and cold these days. There were times when he felt able to accept his "destiny," especially now that he had watched with his own eyes the literal downfall for Barad-dûr. Other times, he was still terrified of that Throne in the Hall. But no, no matter his fear, he would never, could never think of his son having to bear a responsibility that was his alone… a responsibility whose potential that had driven his beloved son from his side many years ago. He believed in Faramir, in every respect, knew that he had what it would take, but he could not shirk his duty only to burden his son.

"I almost took it myself," Faramir said rather quietly, almost as if he'd seen his father's thoughts.

"_It_?" Aragorn questioned.

Faramir nodded, pointlessly, in the dark. "When I found it around Bor's neck, I was terrified. I only hoped to wait until he woke and could tell me what happened. More than anything I was afraid for you. I was sure that you wouldn't have sent him off alive, but I did not know about that poison either. It had been days and I knew that the situation was precarious. I was going to take the Ring to Mordor myself, if for no other reason than to lead trouble away from my men. When I saw Frodo, though… I never thought he would survive it."

"Frodo's fate is yet unknown, so as with Sam. I do not know if they will awaken, though they seem to be stable right now. Faramir, if not for you, this would have failed. When we were in council with ada and I said that this was too dangerous a mission for you to accompany me on, I did not mean that I doubted you could survive the quest itself. I never doubted you for a moment; I know what strength is in you. The danger, I thought, was in me."

"Ada?"

"I feared so that I would be the one who succumbed to its persistent call. I knew that not one of us would be utterly impervious to it, but I wanted Boromir on the journey because I knew that if I could not stand firm in the end, he would not hesitate to… stop me. We had all gone into the wild knowing that someone may well have to protect us from ourselves at some point. It was the risk we all took, and a risk I could not have borne exposing you to. The odd thing is, though I felt it all the while and heard it a few times, it never really got close enough to me. I thought it would try its hardest to acquire me first."

Faramir grinned into the darkness. "Well, it likely did try. But I think you had protection powerful enough," he said, reaching out and tapping at the jewel that his father had always worn around his neck ever since he could remember.

Aragorn fell silent for a few moments before saying quietly, "I wonder will she still come."

"I think what you are really wondering is if you should go to her instead. It has only just come to my mind that with this welcome, albeit unexpected, turn of events, we are not very likely to get home very often again," Faramir said. This was turning out to be just the sort of night these two had always experienced when on patrol – there was always more conversation than sleeping.

Aragorn gave a short laugh. "What do you think I have dreaded all these years? Gondor is a nice place and all, but it could never take the place of home in my heart. I have never been so comfortable anywhere else, even in other Elven lands. But, alas, I meant to _belong_ in Minas Tirith with others of my own kind. So why am I so unlike them?"

"And I've always wondered why they are so unlike you. It is my hope that maybe together we can lead them to more sensible ways," Faramir said, starting to sound like sleep was taking him.

"You they should have called '_Estel_,'" Aragorn replied, sounding equally sleepy.

The next morning Faramir was ready, though not terribly willing, to be gone again. Still, he knew that things in Minas Tirith needed to be dealt with and he could not leave them up to Boromir. He was determined to help his brother to a full recovery and stress would not hasten that at all. Father and son parted with a hug and a promise to keep the messengers busy going between Henneth Annûn and Minas Tirith.

It was late in the night when Faramir got back in to the City. He thought that he could just get through unannounced, but when those trumpets rang out the recognition call of the Steward, Faramir cringed and pulled his hood down further. The last thing he wanted was to be applauded in the streets, and he was fortunate, for most of the people were sound asleep and hadn't even heard the trumpeters.

He walked his horse up through the circles to the stables and was grateful when an active young lad offered to curry and feed his charger, saying that he would do anything for the man his father was so loyal to. This, then, had to be Bergil, the son who was the apple of Captain Beregond's eye since the day he was born. Faramir smiled, thinking how much they reminded him of himself and his own father.

Faramir continued then through the tunnel to the Citadel. He was exhausted and hoped to sleep a sound night before finding out what running a kingdom entailed. As he entered the King's House, he heard hurried footsteps rushing across the courtyard and echoing through the tunnel, giving him the feeling that whoever it was did not want to stop and talk to him. Faramir shook his head and carried on, it wasn't as though he was about to engaging anyone in a long conversation at this hour. A paranoid spark had him wondering if the absconder wasn't up to no good, but he reminded himself that this wasn't the middle of nowhere and there where plenty of guards about.

Faramir looked into his brother's room and saw that Boromir was still awake and looking a bit put out. "Too late for a visit?" Faramir asked, hoping it wasn't him that caused his brother to seem so bothered.

"From you, no," Boromir said, sounding like he looked. "From some persistent harpy, yes. Thank you for saving me, yet again."

Faramir just looked a bit confused.

"Some woman came up here from the Houses, railed on about trying to be 'useful,' and shouted at me because… well, I don't actually _know_ why she shouted at me, but she must have had a lot of practice over the years. I heard them play your new call and said 'thank the gods Faramir has returned,' hoping you could quiet her, and then she stared at me for a moment, went to the window, presumably watching you ride up, and then she ran away. I do not know why, I do not care why, but if the Master Healer cares for his title, he had best never send _that_ one to me again."

Faramir just stood there grinning, he had a very good idea just who Boromir was talking about. Lady Éowyn of Rohan was ever more a mystery to him. "Well, Bor', glad to see you are doing well enough to have the ladies all hot and bothered about you," Faramir said with a wink. "I think I will be able to set everything straight before too long. I need to get some sleep just now, but I will bring you a few books in the morning."

"Leave me alone with dusty books and I will never speak to you again!" Boromir threatened, seeing that smirk on his little brother's face.

"Is that the thanks a man gets for saving his brother from a 'harpy's' talons?" Faramir said unconcernedly.

"Just you wait until I can walk again…!" Boromir growled.

"That's the spirit," Faramir said, smiling genuinely. It was quite the comfort to hear Boromir talking as though he expected a full recovery after hearing him expecting death too much. "Sleep well, brother, we have a new age to plan for on the morrow."

When Faramir woke the next day he washed and broke his fast with his brother. He intended to spend the majority of the day in the library, though not out of leisure. His main plan was to research the coronation process and try to decide exactly how much of it his father would be willing to deal with before making an escape attempt. Erestor had taught him so much about planning these sorts of official and formal things around the whims of others. If Erestor could plan a Solstice celebration despite Elrond's well-documented hatred of _ereg_ boughs, mistletoe, and poinsettias being used indoors for decorative purposes, Faramir was certain that he could figure out a way to make the coronation acceptable to everyone. And anyway, how much could the people really know about this custom when it hadn't been preformed in over a thousand years?

ooo

_Uploading at half-time so this will be a bit brief. Does it seem to anyone else that Fara' is sort of holding the would-be kingdom together at the moment, cheering up Bor', encouraging his ada, checking into the ceremony..._

_ereg - holly_

_windstar: There is always more. This story will finish up as soon as i can get it to, but i've always got ideas going for new stories._

_linda: Yes, you ought to have known, but i really should have added the footnote. I am terrible about that. I had to include Imrahil, he is usually totally ignored. I think Aragorn understands enough about the heir thing that he never wished that on Faramir, but at the same time, it's a good thing they are so close. They really depend a lot on one another._

_grumpy: Faramir has been a very stabilizing force in Aragorn's life, for certain. _


	65. Distraction Sought

It had been several days that Faramir had spent solid hours in the library in the Citadel going through volumes on the Coronation ceremony and he had yet to find one single ritual that was feasible. Moreover, he was certain that a catalog of each stone used to build Minas Tirith would be more interesting to read. Faramir was beginning to understand his older half-brother's aversion to the written word.

One afternoon when his mind was threatening to go permanently numb, Faramir emerged from the library and decided to go for a ride to clear his mind a bit. He knew that his father did not realistically think to get back until nearer his birthday in early May, though Faramir figured that was just stalling for time, and he wondered if he wouldn't need all of that time to figure out something acceptable to everyone. He was in the stables, getting his horse ready for a run when he overhead a couple of men conversing, one a Citadel guard, the other a soldier from Rohan who had been stuck staying behind with an injury.

"Do you think Gondor will really have a King after so many years as they say?" asked the man from Rohan.

"They have called him Elfstone, and I was just a lad at the time, but I remember his as Captain Thorongil. He tended to be a bit grim, you might say, but ask any man who served beside him and they will tell you he should have taken the throne 40 years ago," replied the older guard.

Faramir kept silent but grinned. His father was already loved in this place and it gave him immense hope. He felt confident that, regardless of how a king might be expected to act, even if his ada fed the rule books to the wargs, the people would love him. All would be worked out and Faramir knew that his father's mercy and generosity and sense of justice would be all that was really needed.

"Elfstone… then he is the one who the Lady fancies so. Wouldn't that be a fine alliance, Rohan and Gondor?" continued the Rider of the Mark.

"Say again?" said the guard.

"Should've seen it! Now mind you, Lady Éowyn was never one of those maidens that sits about with stitchery gossiping. Used to see her take on her brother and the Prince, at the same time, and well… if they weren't kin to her the two of them wouldn't have stood a chance. Either one could've told you which side of her sword was the sharper. But, I mean to say, taking all that into consideration, she fell hard for that Lord Aragorn."

"Go on!" the guard chided doubtfully.

"As I breathe!" swore the rider. "Never seen it clearer. My own wife never looked at me the way she looked at him. He rode in to Edoras as if he was a king already, with an Elf, a Dwarf, and a Wizard as his knights. Trouble is, didn't look at all like he returned her favor. Don't know though, you think they'd do a diplomatic deal of sorts?"

"Captain Thorongil? A finer leader no one has ever heard of, but I do not believe the man has the word diplomatic in his language. If it's true that Captain Faramir will stand as his Steward it's a good thing for 'Lord Aragorn,' as you call him. The Lady really fancies him that much, huh?"

"I heard that your Lord Boromir was found and is recovering and that the Captain from Ithilien is only standing in his place until he is able to take up his duties. Also heard they're illegitimate brothers," said the Rohanian. "As I say, it's been put about a bit that Captain… _King _Éomer sent for his sister when the battle was won, but she would not go because Lord Aragorn did not call for her as well."

Faramir stood by and listened to the two men talk, never was he one to eavesdrop but it was rather impossible not to hear. He waited until they left the stables before he walked his horse out, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. Taking a deep breath he pulled his hood over his head and rode out of the city for while, utterly unable to explain why he was aching so much.

That evening when Faramir took his supper with Boromir he was noticeably quieter than usual. "I know that ale's got a bit of bite to it," Boromir said, "but that's no reason not to eat and drink, little brother."

Faramir smirked weakly, but Boromir was far from convinced. Sitting back against his pillows he folded his arms over his chest. "You have that 'thinking' look on you again, Faramir. What is troubling you? Might as well come out with it."

"It's nothing. Truly, I do not even rightly know myself. I guess I am just trying to understand something," Faramir said honestly.

"Well, that's your problem then, isn't it? I make it a policy to _never_ try to understand things. Makes everything easier that way, understanding is too complicated," Boromir said, resuming his meal as though he had solved the whole thing.

"Maybe. I don't know. I still haven't found anything useful in those volumes. I've only just gotten through the rites from King Celepharn. They get worse every time, more rules and expectations that are unrealistic." Faramir sounded as if he was getting down and Boromir meant to put a stop to it somehow.

"It's sitting around with those dusty books all day, Fara', it's not doing you a bit of good. Tell you what, I am prepared to make a sacrifice for my little brother. How about you bring as many of those things as you can carry up here tomorrow and I will help you?"

"I wouldn't ask that of you," Faramir said, thinking that what Boromir likely meant was that he was prepared to help him sacrifice the ancient tomes to the fireplace.

"Good, because if you did ask I would not do it. But since you didn't ask, and I offered, I will consider my day for tomorrow… _booked_."

Faramir only groaned and thanked Boromir for his bigheartedness. Likely he was just going stir crazy without anyone to talk to all day, but Faramir knew it would be beneficial to them both, even if Boromir claimed an allergy to dusty books.

That next day Faramir went down to the library and brought up and tottering stack of the old volumes that he had been systemically going through. It was quite a balancing act to keep them from toppling over onto his sleeping brother's injured ankle as he set them down at the end of the bed. He did not wake his brother, however, until someone brought breakfast, he figured it best to let sleeping dogs lie unless there was something to gnaw on.

When Boromir woke it was clear that his spirits may be lifted immeasurably, but his ankle was still hurting him. He flinched and gritted his teeth as he sat upright. "Bloody water again," the elder brother grumbled. "You know, my ankle always is at its worst in the morning, so why not give me ale now? They give me ale at night, to shut me up no doubt, but what's wrong with some in the morning as well? And why in the name of the gods did someone erect a bleeding _tower_ at the foot of my bed overnight?"

"You asked me to bring what I could carry. I did so," Faramir said coming back into the room and drinking down a glass of water as though he'd been dying of thirst.

"I said what _you_ could carry, not what you could stack up on a mûmak!"

Faramir had long since grown used to Boromir's morning grumpiness. His old mentor, Erestor, had been just the same, though two less alike people Faramir could not imagine. "You just need some fresh air," Faramir opined, opening the shutters and letting the clean spring breeze come in along with the sunshine. Faramir had been in quite a good mood to start the day, until he happened to notice that Boromir's window boasted a fine view of not only the Anduin, but also the Houses of Healing. That reminded Faramir of that conversation he'd overheard, and though he wanted to shut it out, get on with his work, and keep company with his brother, he could not help becoming a bit subdued.

Still, he chatted with his brother over breakfast, even though he was no longer quite as hungry. After a bit he handed Boromir a book and took one for himself, sitting in a big, comfortable chair in the sunlight. Faramir strove to concentrate, but with the monotonous quality of what had been written about the coronation ceremonies of these long-gone kings, it was not easy. Faramir's mind was wandering away from him and he kept finding himself thinking of the hauntingly mournful Lady of Rohan. Faramir sighed and set the book aside, going to the window for a breath of air.

"Must be nice to be able to get up and take a break from this absolute rubbish," Boromir said, apparently still not over his bout of crabbiness. That tone changed though when his brother turned to look at him with heartache in his eyes. Boromir heaved a long sigh. "Don't bother telling me it's nothing this time. I let you get away with that nonsense yesterday and I should not have. Out with it."

"I've never felt like such a fool," Faramir said, again looking down on the Houses of Healing.

"Always told you that disarming me twice in a row back when we first met would come back to haunt you one day," Boromir said, attempting to make his little brother feel better. "Now then, what could possibly make you feel like a fool, you who were raised by Elves? No wait, let me guess… you are in _love_," Boromir said, sounding as if the very idea revolted him.

At that Faramir flushed a bit. That had never crossed his mind, but now that Boromir said it… suppose he was right?

That tinge of pink in his brother's cheeks was enough evidence for Boromir. "Addles the wits of the wisest and turns even the best of soldiers into melted lumps," he grumbled. "Which one's web did you walk into?"

For a moment Faramir looked at his brother as if he wanted to evade the question or insist that it wasn't love exactly. In the end he knew better and simply said, "Éowyn, Lady of Rohan," as he sat down again and tried to find where he'd left off in the book.

"Well, you could've done worse. Though I hear she is a bit on the… sharp side. Still, better feisty than a bore, no?" Boromir said, attempting to stick his attention to the page in front of him. This he looked at as his own person test for regaining honor.

"I haven't done better or worse or otherwise. I've walked and talked with her, but never any more," Faramir said as though he was deeply regretting that at the moment. "I am a fool though because she couldn't care less for me."

"How do you know? Women are wily, little brother, they want you to think they don't care for you. Don't ask me why, that's what I told you last night about not trying to understand these things."

"I know because she fancies my father," Faramir said, not at all bitterly, for he knew the extent of his father's love for Arwen.

Boromir, however, was trying to keep from chuckling and failing. "Well, some good it'll do her. Your father is just about as lovesick for Lord Elrond's daughter as I have ever seen a man. You know, I even got the idea at one point that that was what this whole quest for the Crown thing was all about, so he could prove himself to her or something. I just wished he wouldn't have spoken to her quite so frequently in his sleep, especially during my watch. Right… well, how exactly do you know she fancies your father?" Boromir asked when his unique sort of levity wasn't working.

"I overheard a conversation yesterday," Faramir said. "Apparently it is painful obvious that she is head over heels in love with him."

"I wouldn't put too much stock into rumors, particularly those going around this city, little brother. Why don't you go talk to her again, see if you can figure out how she really feels?" Boromir shook his head and looked back at the book he'd been staring blankly at for a while. "Listen to me, giving love advice. I knew laying about in bed would make me go all soft. What is all this rot anyway? There is no way they made any king-to-be go through all this for something he'd probably already been doing for the five years that his father spent going into senility anyway."

Faramir absently nodded and turned a page. "I don't really think I should. Actually, I am certain that she doesn't like me at all. The first two times I met her she punched me in the arm and slapped my face. Not much of a start. She probably only walked with me because I reminded her of ada. I heard she didn't go to Cormallen because her brother sent for her, but my father did not, so likely as not she really does not want to see me now. No wonder she ran out of here when you mentioned my name."

"Well, that attitude never got a man a good la-" Boromir cleared his throat suddenly as Mithrellas came in the room, "lady," he finished sounding utterly innocent.

"What are you doing with that?" Mithrellas asked Boromir, sounding quite surprised.

"Reading, Mumma 'Rel, I did master the ability some years ago, if not the fondness."

"Just like your uncle. Still, if your mumma could see this she would never believe her eyes. It would make her so proud, though, both of you. Since I do not mind playing currier to my best friend's son, this former small forest is for you, Faramir," she said handing Faramir a stack of missives that nearly rivals the stack of books he'd brought up.

Glancing through, he set one aside from his father. The rest were from people he'd never heard of, and all addressed to the Steward of Gondor. Faramir sighed. "These are for you," he said dryly, handing them to Boromir.

"Oh no they are not! I agreed to help you with these books, but you are still Steward. I can't be, I'm on injured reserve, remember?"

"It's your ankle, Boromir, you can still do as much as I can. Which reminds me, when do I get to tell our good people that you are just fine and will be back in a few weeks and swear that you really did want me to do this and I didn't try to take over or force you to name me your heir or leave you for dead, or any of the other fine things they surely have to say about me?"

"Anything they have to say they can say to my face," Boromir said with a great deal of conviction. "If you really want to, you can tell them at least that I am alive and… _well_. I guess I should really issue a statement." There was that plaintive look about Boromir directed at his little brother.

"Oh no!" said Faramir defensively. "That is a good idea, but it has got to be in your hand, not mine. Even if they can't actually read your writing, they will know you wrote it and that will be good enough."

"While I am writing I might as well send a message to your father asking him if I can stay Captain-General when he comes back. That's one thing I am grateful for, that there will no longer be a need for a Stewardship. Now, as to you, why do you not just go and talk to your lady?"

"I thought you wanted to go back to Dol Amroth?" Faramir said recalling a conversation he'd had with his brother not so long ago.

"Sometimes I would, of course. But if I could lead the army still I would do that first and foremost. That is what I can do well, not all of this reading and trying to figure out which ceremony is best or writing letters to the people of Gondor to tell them that all is well. And you should stop changing the subject and go to see your lady," Boromir decided.

Faramir ignored the comment though. It was an old trick he'd learned from Erestor, even if the Noldo hadn't meant to teach it to him. Faramir often noticed that Erestor spent much more time devoted to work when Glorfindel was around. Putting two and two together as quickly as everyone else in the Last Homely House had done, he figured out that Erestor loved Glor' madly, but refused to admit it, and thus, when the object of his desire was around, it was easier for him to bury himself in work. It was a distraction. "There is far too much to do here. We have that whole stack of books to work on, and that doesn't include those missives."

Boromir shook his head. He was clearly going to have to find another, less obvious way to make something happen. "All right, then, let's get this over with. I am not going to do this again, you do know?"

ooo

_A much, much longer chapter this time. I know i've been slacking a bit on the updates. Got to get myself back in line i guess. _

_Must ask if anyone feels as if this is getting too long. I really don't believe i am going to take this story beyond Aragorn and Arwen's wedding. I do need to find a conclusion since the main focus has been the difference in Faramir's life (and the lives of others)since being raised by Aragorn. So too will it soon be time to start working on some other stories. Got a few bunnies going hungry around here. _

_Elenhin: I kind of thought you might have missed chapter 63 when i didn't see a review, but i knew that you'd been away and also there was something going on with the email alerts at the time. Still, no problem, of course. I know i can always count on your reviews. :)_

_windstar: Glad you are enjoying._

_Grumpy: Poor Fara', a lot of pressure to come up with something to please everyone. It's bound to be difficult for him knowing that whatever is done will mark a major change to his and his father's lifestyles._

_linda: I hope they will be able to get away at times together, too. It would be tricky, but if anyone could those two could._


	66. Revelations

Late that night as Mithrellas was making rounds through the Houses, still wondering how Faramir had ever gotten Boromir to help him go through those ancient books, she thought she heard someone up the hall sounding rather distressed, though trying to hide it. Pushing the door open quietly she saw the young woman from Rohan weeping into her pillow.

"Ah, child, what troubles you?" Mithrellas said softly, adding a few drops of lavender oil to the candle burning at the bedside. Éowyn was still looking pale and unwell and Mithrellas thought it very likely that she was still suffering the effects of the Black Breath.

Éowyn only turned away, withdrawing from the light touch at her forehead checking for signs of fever. She did not answer Mithrellas's question right away, she only seemed to sob harder. "I am going to die," she wept softly after a time.

Mithrellas had not been told by any that Éowyn's condition was so grave and so she did not overreact, had the lady been truly that unwell it would have been made known to her as well as the other healers in the Houses. "Why do you believe that, dear?" she asked comfortingly.

"I am bleeding, but I am not wounded. My mother died this way as well." Her voice was so small that Mithrellas had to strain to hear. "Could someone send for my brother?"

"We shall see, my Lady, but perhaps there is not a need to worry him just yet. Let me fetch some thistle and see if I cannot help you." Mithrellas remained calm but she knew that an internal injury might in fact cause death long before anyone could be notified. Yet it did not seem possible that Éowyn was really bleeding internally since she had been well enough through the week. Moreover, Mithrellas knew well enough that not all internal injuries were so severe, no one had ever died from an earache at least. "Are you in any pain?" she asked.

"Yes, such as I have never known before," Éowyn moaned, now clutching the pillow.

"How long has this been now?" Mithrellas asked, growing concerned that perhaps there was a real problem at hand.

"All day," she said. "I woke in the night with a terrible pain in my back and it has not gone away. I've not been able to eat anything either."

Mithrellas now looked curious. "From where are you bleeding, child?"

Éowyn flushed a bit, then turned away. "I can not say," she whispered.

"Ah, I understand. Has this ever happened before?" Mithrellas said, beginning to get the picture.

"No, never!" Éowyn wailed.

"How old are you, child?" Mithrellas asked.

"Twenty and four," Éowyn said as though she knew that was all the more years she was to see.

"You have always been a very active person?" Mithrellas continued.

Éowyn simply nodded, though she had no idea what the woman healer was asking her that for.

Mithrellas simply smiled softly. "This is both very normal, and not so normal," she said. It was certainly not normal among women of nobility, though for lower class women whose lives were of extensive activity and labor it could often actually be uncommon to go through the symptoms of a woman's natural cyclical experience. Though now that Éowyn had been quite inactive for a bit of time, her body seemed to respond to that rather quickly. What surprised Mithrellas the most was that no one had ever spoken to the young woman of this, though she was aware that she had been raised by her uncle, whose wife had died in childbirth, and she had only a brother. Mithrellas sighed, men were so helpless sometimes, and she gently began the rather lengthy explanation of what was going on to the poor frightened girl. From that time on Mithrellas and Éowyn came to be good friends, Éowyn feeling that she had someone who she could confide in whilst in this strange city.

One morning when Mithrellas came to visit Boromir and noted that Faramir was at the library fetching more volumes of useless information about Kings of Gondor from over a thousand years before. She asked him if Faramir had ever spoken of any lady with particular interest and from the way Boromir rolled his eyes she guessed that he had indeed. Mithrellas said that Éowyn had spoken to her of Faramir in quite glowing terms, but always she negated such praise by insisting that he did not care for her at all. She had said that she thought it was possible that he fancied her when they had walked in the gardens together, but ever since the word came of the victory at the Black Gates he had not come to see her, causing her to believe that he'd only walked with her to keep from being alone.

Boromir just shook his head. He was not at all surprised. "And Faramir has refused to go to her because he overheard some ridiculous rumor that she fancies his father and he thinks she would not care to see him. This is what love does to rational people. We have to do something about this Mumma 'Rel. That poor girl is not going to get any better and my little brother is going to turn into a book if we don't get them together. Thing is, he won't buy it from me, someone else has to be in on this."

Mithrellas smiled. "Leave it up to me, I think I can enlist the help of the Warden, he has been worried about the lady's condition. I will go and speak with him immediately." She turned to leave just as Faramir was coming into Boromir's chambers, weighted down with another tower of tomes for them to waste the afternoon with.

The next morning as Faramir was coming from the library with yet another stack of old ledgers, the Warden approached him, asking if he could spare a moment. Faramir agreed but his arms were growing a bit tired and he asked a nearby guard if he wouldn't mind taking the stack up to Boromir's apartments. Boromir was thrilled to see the books coming without his little brother, that had to mean that at least part of the plan was set in motion.

The Warden asked Faramir to come with him to the Houses and he said that he hoped Faramir could help him with a patient. He said that he had heard that Faramir had some skill with the healing arts and had often tended the Rangers at Henneth Annûn. Faramir agreed and the Warden told him of how this patient just was not returning to health, even though everyone else in the Houses, in the entire City really, seemed to be better than ever. Faramir did seem concerned and said that he would do what he could to help as the Warden lead him to the gardens.

Faramir looked around the garden but he saw only one, a woman, standing by the wall, though she appeared to be rather holding herself up with it. That long, golden hair was not to be mistaken in Minas Tirith. Faramir took a deep breath as a twinge of agony took hold of him. Of all people, this one lady he had not wished to face at that moment. He felt certain that he would only make a fool of himself with her yet again. Faramir decided that what he had to do, as his daeradar had often said, was to simply forget about his own feelings in favor of offering healing. Of course, the part that was bothering him so was that the first step to healing involved questions, as a healer had to known precisely what was the trouble before he could assess the situation. Faramir could only think of one thing he wanted to ask Éowyn at that moment.

His mind was a whirlwind that he prayed would cease and let him act rationally as he approached the wall where she stood looking out. The last time he had seen her she had been in the same place. That was when he learned that his father survived and was victorious. Since then he had been so busy, and then he'd overheard that rumor…. Faramir drove that thought from his mind and forced himself to pretend nothing was bothering him as he bowed graciously and bid Éowyn a good morning.

She looked rather surprised to see Faramir here in the garden again, but she said nothing, not returning the greeting with any more than a nod. Faramir took a deep breath at that, once again trying to compose himself enough to ask what was troubling her. If she really did need healing he knew that he was not the one to do it, not with the way he felt at that moment. He was liable to make mistakes, and Elrond had always said that it was often better to not attempt to heal someone if mistakes were too likely.

They stood together in silence for some while, both looking out over the high wall, and unwittingly both thinking just the same thing. After some while Faramir thought he had figured out how to ask what was on his mind and ask what was troubling her in the same question, and it still took him a while to find his voice to ask it though. Finally Faramir decided that he just had to take courage and face it like he had any other obstacle.

"Éowyn… why do you tarry here?" he asked, truly wondering. "Cormallen is not a far journey, and your brother dearly wishes to see you."

To Éowyn's ears, that sounded a lot like Faramir did not wish for her to remain in Minas Tirith. She thought that he was trying to get rid of her by sending her back into her brother's care. There was noticeable hurt in her voice, though she did her best to hide it when she replied, "Do you not know?"

Faramir sighed, sounding somewhat defeated. It seemed to him that she was going to force him into asking her directly what he wanted to know. Still, he kept himself in check and said thoughtfully, "Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know."

At that Éowyn's mood swung from hurt to anger. "I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!" she said in no gentle tone. If he wanted her gone and away from him, why did he not just say so!

Faramir took a deep breath. As he suspected, it had come to this. "Then if you will have it so, lady…. You do not go because only your brother called for you…," he took a breath, wondering if this would prove true, "and not Lord Aragorn," he said. Leaving her no moment to respond to that before he spoke of his more hopeful thought, he continued, "Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me." Again Faramir continued, if he had to get this off his chest, it was best to do it all at once. "Maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. Éowyn… do you not love me, or _will_ you not?" Faramir had no mind to ask whether she did or did not love him, he had himself convinced that she in fact did not, he only wanted to know why it was so.

Faramir's half-done-confession caught Éowyn quite off guard. She was sure that it was he who did not love her. Still, she kept her defenses up and simply said, "I wished to be loved by another." Quickly she added, "but I desire no man's pity!"

For a time Faramir was quite. To him that was all the confirmation he needed that she did not love him, though he told himself that there was no surprise in that. So with that he decided it was best to resign himself to the facts and to try to understand Éowyn's point of view as best he could. It wasn't as though he'd ever understood why he felt so strongly for this lady anyhow. What he wanted to do more than anything was to go back to his chambers and not speak to anyone for the rest of the day, but Faramir had never been one to run from his fears or hide from pain.

Looking at Éowyn he spoke of what he saw in her, someone who wanted the love of somebody great and powerful who could take her away from all the sorrow and dread in her life, who would not only save her but give her the triumph and freedom she sought so vainly for, who would put her in a position to no longer be answerable or in service to any man. Only when Lord Aragorn, who was surely the greatest and most powerful of Men, could give her naught but sympathy and empathy, she sought only for the glory of battle and the freedom of death.

Faramir again strengthened his resolve and put himself on the front lines, admitting in unmistakable words that he loved her, and, since his last question had actually gone unanswered, he asked again, "Éowyn, do you not love me?" For some reason, he just needed to hear the word "no" from her own lips before he could let it rest, even if he was torturing himself with it.

At that the change in Éowyn's mood was undeniable, but it was Faramir's turn to be caught off guard as she now seemed no longer mournful, almost as if she rejoiced that he finally admitted that he loved her. Éowyn declared that she no longer wished to be a warrior-maiden, but that she wanted to become a healer, and Faramir found himself speechless at this change, as though his words had freed Éowyn to see what it was that she truly desired. And she looked at him long, now holding his hand, and said meaningfully "No longer do I desire to be a queen."

Her meaning was not lost on Faramir, nor was the meaning of the sparkle in her sapphire eyes, and he laughed to realize that he had been so wrong the whole time about her. Scarcely did his mind have any notice of what his heart suddenly had him saying, that he would marry her, if she too wanted that, and that they would build a home in Ithilien, and have gardens that would grow beautiful just because she was there.

He could have and would have gone on like a merry fool, had Éowyn not checked his excitement by voicing her fears, lest happiness let them lose their senses. Perhaps he had not thought of the consequences that could come of marrying a "wild shieldmaiden" and she was not about to have him change his mind later, so thought it best to warn him just what he was getting into. "Would you have your proud folk say of you:… 'Was there no woman of the race of Númenor to choose?'"

Faramir was not to be daunted by the opinions of others, though. He did not take his eyes from hers as he said only, "I would," in his soft voice, and he held her close, kissing her with passion. Faramir lingered a moment with an idiotic grin before he came to his senses and took Éowyn's hand in his and, all but dragging her along with him, went to the Master Healer, who was suddenly trying to look like he had been looking through a book of herbology all along. Faramir declared Lady Éowyn to be in perfect health and the Warden, having long known that there was nothing wrong with the lady that a certain lord couldn't cure, gave his blessing for her departure from the Houses. But Éowyn in fact chose to remain in the Houses of Healing, for the place had become quite special to her, and she hoped to learn something of the healing arts.

Faramir agreed that that was a fine idea and said that he would help her as much as he was able. It was just then that he noticed that the sun was already a full hand's breadth from where it was when he emerged from the library that morning. "I've got to go for now, Éowyn," he said, sounding rather regretful about it, "my brother has likely already ignited our last hope for finding any suitable ideas for the ceremony of coronation. I will come back as soon as I am able, though. Perhaps we could dine together?"

She merely nodded and off Faramir went like an Elf walking on fresh fallen snow. That was until he passed a room and happened to hear one garrulous elderly nurse saying, "hands of a healer? Ts'nt naught but ancient rubbish. Why, if that were so I could have taken the crown myself years ago and saved us all a lot of bother about it!"

Faramir, however, was a little more idealistic about the whole thing. "Lady Ioreth…," he said in a slightly more commanding tone than was necessary, and noticing that he had chanced upon Damrod's recovery room, asked the nurse if she wouldn't mind leaving them for a bit. Faramir waited until the woman in question nodded, bowed, and closed the door behind her. "You needn't take her word for it, Damrod. After all, I heard it was she who was most impressed with the healing skills put forth to revive me not so very long ago. You have my apology that I have not been to see you, you know that is not like me."

Damrod smiled brightly, glad to see a familiar face. "And you needn't apologize, Captain Faramir. I did hear that you are acting as Steward now, and I never expected you'd have too much time on your hands."

"Well, I have as much time as everyone else, it is just that my time now seems to be a bit more full than usual. But how are you faring, my friend?"

"I am alive," Damrod said with a little smile, though it was plain to Faramir that he was still having a lot of trouble breathing. "They tell me I shouldn't even be here, so I guess I am doing quite well. I just wish my mumma would stop worrying." Damrod spoke slowly, but he had much to say and Faramir was patient. He asked after Mablung and was relieved to hear that none of theirs who ventured to the Black Gates had suffered any injury. "Captain," he said quietly, "there was a man here, just after the battle… I thought that I would die here and I said to my mumma not to cry, that my father had died this way too, fighting for the King. Then a man came to me, he must have been a Ranger, but I did not know him, and he helped me. He had some kind of leaf that he made a vapor of, and when I breathed it I was not in pain. I thought surely he must be the King. Since then I have heard no talk of kings, I thought I must have been dreaming."

Faramir smiled warmly though. "That was certainly no dream, Damrod. There is a King and he will soon return here to Minas Tirith and the glory of Númenor will be renewed."

Faramir thought there was a bit more he could say on that subject to his friend, but just then a messenger came looking for him with a letter. Faramir glanced through it, looking a little perturbed. "They cannot be coming yet, it is too soon!" he muttered. "I am afraid I cannot stay, Damrod. You ought to be resting anyway, at least if you pretend to sleep Ioreth may leave you alone. I give you my word that I shall not neglect my friends, though." Faramir turned to go, then turned back for a moment and took a leaf from his belt pouch saying, "this works wonders," with a knowing smile, and departing quickly to get back to the suddenly more pressing work of making preparations.

---

_Long chapter this time since i have been so long off my regular writing schedule. This time of the year is so busy for everybody and when i am not rushing or trying to sit still long enough to think, i am too bloody tired to really do much writing. Either that or i am just on a lazy streak. Besides... it's still football season in the 'burgh. _

_Now then... i am going to do my reviews here for the time being, since it's been so long since the last chapter. Perhaps i shall keep up with them in the new system from here on though. These ones are grandfathered in though._

_linda: I haven't the foggiest clue what Faramir's planning to do. And with Boromir in on it... no one knows what may happen._

_steelelf: Ah, yeah, Bor's a dear when he wants to be._

_Elenhin: I've got to get back to your message. Been so busy all weekend that i just haven't gotten to it yet. And you know me, i never like to be hasty about it. The boys had a big win today, i'll tell you all about that later though._

_grumpy: Sometimes, just on ocassion, the elder sibling does in fact know best (i should know!)_


	67. A Surprise Greeting

Several days had gone by since that dizzying day when Faramir realized he'd been a madman not to simply ask Éowyn how she felt, rather than relying on gossip. So far Faramir had been dividing his time between his brother and his sweetheart rather evenly. It had been a concern of his that perhaps Boromir would grow miserable again without him around so much, but that proved to be an unnecessary worry. Even without much ability to move, Boromir was healing well in body and mind.

And yet, with all the new joys in Faramir's life, he found himself still running dry on what to do about the Coronation ceremony for his father. Faramir couldn't help but think that it would be much easier if he did not know his ada so well. Every time he found some small segment of one ceremony that might not make his father go running back to the mountains, he realized that something else about it would. Aragorn simply hated pomp and circumstance, and, after all, what was this all about otherwise?

More than that, though, there was the matter of the message he'd received telling him that his beloved family was en route to Minas Tirith. It had to be too early, Faramir thought. He knew that Elladan mentioned that they would probably set out closer to the time of the Coronation. Had that come from Elrohir, he could understand the error in timing, but Elladan was a lot more intuitive about these things than his twin. How, he wondered, could he ever manage to get this city into some kind of order and shape that would make it look presentable to the greatest of the Eldar, not only his daeradar and his father's beloved, but the Lord and Lady of Lórien as well, whom he had been, so far, spared from meeting, but had endured some strange tales of from his dear uncles.

One night Faramir found he was sitting, resting under a tall oak. He didn't exactly remember why he was there, but his mind was tired and he needed the respite and a little seclusion. A mist began to crawl in, but being near the river he thought little of it, there was nothing unusual about it anyway. Only his thoughts seemed to be growing just as foggy. Nothing was clear to him, he could not complete a thought and had only the vaguest sense that something was not right. Faramir could hear shouts in the distance and a roar and crackling that suggested fire. He tried to fight his way through the dense fog, but it was as though he was enclosed and could not escape. The fog was becoming smoke rapidly and stealing the air from his lungs. Faramir stayed close to the ground to try to avoid breathing the deadly smog, but panic hit him when he thought he could hear his father shouting.

Boromir was laying awake that night and heard strange sounds coming from the room adjoining his own. At first he thought that maybe Faramir and that lady he'd been so besotted with had hit it off a little quicker than usual. He'd chuckled over it until he realized that it was obvious that there was not a note of enjoyment next door but fear and danger.

Boromir called out to his brother, just to be on the safe side, but received no response but the continued sounds of distress. Gritting his teeth against the pain still lingering in his ankle, Boromir did the only thing a brother could do: he pulled himself up and climbed awkwardly out of his bed. He had yet to actually attempt to put any kind of weight on the ankle and so he leaned heavily against the nightstand for a moment before taking a hold of the wall and making his way toward the door that joined the two suites. Pushing the door open Boromir found the room completely dark, and groping for something to support him as he tried to get to his brother, Boromir accidentally started to stand on his bad ankle and immediately crashed to the floor with a cry.

Faramir woke with a start at the yell accompanied by a loud thud. For a moment Faramir did not know where he was until he saw his brother laying in a gasping heap upon the floor (the night vision of Rangers being inherently better than that of regular soldiers.) Quickly he lit a candle and went to Boromir who snarled something about next time making it more worth his while than a bad dream. Ignoring his brother's nonsense for the moment, Faramir helped Boromir to stand on his good leg and guided him to lay down on the bed. Rekindling the fire in the hearth that had burned out, Faramir asked his half-brother what exactly it was that he was thinking when he went prowling around on a broken ankle that had been healing nicely.

"I was coming to help you, you are very welcome!" Boromir snapped, hissing and clutching a pillow in agony.

Faramir sighed and apologized. Looking through a pack he found a couple of leaves, one of which he gave to Boromir to chew on, promising it would ease the pain. The other he used to brew a tea for them both, as he was still shaken after that dream. Faramir was beginning to calm down and thinking of how he could go about getting Boromir back into his own chambers in such a way that wouldn't cause him too much pain when someone knocked at his chamber door. For a moment Faramir was terrified to answer it, fearing that a messenger was sent to tell him of a forest fire in Ithilien, he knew well how dreams were often used to reveal things. When he opened the door to see a young lad standing there in the livery of the Citadel his heart nearly stopped.

"Forgive me for wakening you, my Lord," the boy said with a bow, "but I was sent to tell you that watchers have spotted a host approaching from Druadan."

Faramir visibly relaxed at that. But then he began to wonder just what sort of host would approach in the night. Faramir nodded and told the lad that he would be along directly, as soon as he was dressed. Going back to his half-brother, Faramir told him only that there was something that needed to be attended to and that he should just get some sleep until he returned.

Boromir did not seem to be even slightly pleased with that explanation and demanded that his brother be careful. Faramir was hard-pressed to keep from rolling his eyes, what was the first thing anyone learned in weapons training anyway?

Faramir went immediately out to the parapet which was lined with archers awaiting commands. "Dartho!" Faramir called out before he realized that most of the archers stationed in Minas Tirith did not know Sindarin as his Rangers did (it was one of Faramir's first decisions as Captain of the Rangers to institute a more effective code that did not rely on Westron speech.) "Hold," Faramir said, correcting the previous command at the more than several odd looks he received, Faramir walked out along the embrasure, noting the rather heavy guard presence at the main gate.

"Do we know this host to be hostile?" Faramir asked the acting Captain of the Guard.

"No, my Lord, we know them not at all," Boromir's second-in-command replied. "I thought it best, in these days, to call out the guard. The men from the Southern fiefs are at each gate, our own at the main gate."

Faramir nodded and instructed him to give no command unless he signaled. Walking out again along the length of he embrasure, Faramir asked several men to extinguish their torches. It would be so much better for their night vision if they learned to do without light. After a few minutes Faramir was able to see most stars clearly and then he looked out toward the north-west where the forest line could be seen in the distance. It was clear that there was a host approaching, they appeared to be bearing light, and Faramir could not figure out why they did chose to travel during the night. It was entirely possible that this was indeed an enemy force planning a surprise attack while the city was still weakened and vulnerable.

"Do you wish to be armed, my Lord?" the interim Captain asked him.

Faramir, however, declined, though he could not really say why.

"My Lord, if you wait until we know for sure there may not be time to get you into armor, and as you are the standing Steward of Gondor -"

It was then that Faramir realized he now had an obligation to more than just himself and his father and brother to be even more careful than usual. "Just give me a bit longer, Ardan," Faramir said in resignation. "Perhaps you can have the armor brought here?" He just did not have a feeling that whoever was coming should be greeted in plate armor.

As the Captain left to collect what was necessary, Faramir stood upon the battlements staring at the approaching host. There was something strange about the light that the travelers bore and for the briefest moment Faramir thought maybe the armor was a good idea. Then he could have just about slapped himself for living among Mortal Men too long and forgetting where he came from.

Faramir went dashing back toward the tunnel telling the archers to retire for the night, just as he told the rest of the guard, level by level, as he went racing by on horseback. When Ardan came back juggling pieces of plate armor to find all the soldiers dismissed and the Steward riding off across the field he dropped the armor in a pile, swearing that working with the acting Steward was even worse than putting up with Boromir's abnormal ideas.

Faramir was riding fast, eager to see his family again, as he had guessed that odd light to be the light of the Eldar, which he'd nearly forgotten about. It was something that was just a part of the whole environment of Rivendell that one tended not to notice how some Elves glowed. Besides, Faramir had grown up with it and really thought little of it.

He was about 250 or 300 yards from the group when suddenly the light was doused. Faramir immediately signaled his horse to halt. The other company across the field began to advance toward him and Faramir realized in an instant what he'd fallen for. The message announcing that his family was en route and his first thought that it was too early for them to come should have been warning enough, but whoever was now coming toward him had to have known that he would be so eager to see those he loved that he'd fall for it. They had to have known to carry torches behind sheets and stay just barely in eye sight so that the light would look diffused and muted. They had to know that the light would obscure Faramir's vision of them as he neared.

This was set-up exclusively for him and had worked. He was too near them now and too far from the safety of the city to try to turn back and flee, he'd never make it. There was no way anyone would get to him in time. He could not charge and fight against them, he was alone against maybe 100 of them. Faramir kept his head, though, it would do no good to fall apart. There was always the option of negotiation, he dearly hoped, even if it most certainly seemed that these people knew who he was and came specifically for him at a time when Minas Tirith's defenses were low. But who could have known so much about him?

No, there was so sense in fighting back so Faramir dismounted and sent his horse back to the City at a gallop that would rival any speed the Black Riders could have taken. He couldn't shout for help, he wouldn't be heard. He could only hope that someone in that vast city couldn't sleep and just happened to be looking his direction. Faramir kept his ground as the advancing troop moved in. They were within 100 yards when he called out, "What do you want?" as if he didn't know or could stall them now. They only moved faster. They fell upon him and Faramir gave a shout, even though he knew it was useless, before he was quickly rendered unconscious.

As Faramir rode out over the Pelennor toward Grey Wood there were three who were watching him from the City: Éowyn; Ardan, Boromir's pro tem replacement; and Mithrellas, who had come to Boromir's chamber to check in on him, found him in pain in Faramir's chambers, and was quickly told by Boromir that he was fine and what he really needed was someone to go over to the "king's" chambers, which looked out over the whole field, to watch out for his little brother for him. Three people within the White City gasped simultaneously when they saw the light near Grey Wood suddenly go out. When Faramir sent his horse running back at such a speed, all three knew there was trouble. Ardan went to wake Beregond and alert him to the danger that Faramir was in and to call the guard out again. Mithrellas ran back to Boromir to tell him that something was amiss.

Boromir only had to see the worried look that his "second mumma" wore and he was already pulling himself upright, despite the fact that it was not in the least comfortable for him to do so. "Now, Bori', it will not help anything you getting upset," Mithrellas said, trying to calm the man. It was as useless as Faramir's shout. Instead of calming down Boromir shouted for a guard and demanded that the man help him up and get him dressed for a ride.

Mithrellas couldn't believe the nonsense she was hearing out of him and staunchly refused to permit that to happen. "Absolutely not, Boromir. You will lay down and get your rest! If you injure that ankle any further I do not give you much chance of walking again, because I will end up breaking your thick skull trying to get some sense into it!"

However, she underestimated just how devoted to his half-brother Boromir really was. "Listen to me," Boromir said in a tone that sounded uncomfortably like the one Denethor most frequently employed, "that man is my brother, the only other child that my beloved mother bore -" hepaused, looking at the guard who was torn as to whose orders to follow, and, not changing his tone, said, "you _will_ forget that you heard that – and no one upon Arda, Valinor, or out in the Void is going to hinder me from going to his aid."

Before long, Boromir was being helped across the courtyard and toward the tunnel. Someone already had readied his war-horse and walked the animal up to the Citadel as the previously indisposed Captain-General had ordered most vehemently. His ankle was hurting more and more but the pain only served to make him more fierce about this and he would not brook the slightest difference of opinion. He could not mount up on the left of the horse and usually any difference in approach could frighten a horse, but it seemed that even this one picked up that his rider was in a terrible temper and knew it better not to protest about being boarded on the wrong side.

Once in the saddle, Boromir could let the pressure off his ankle and wasn't quite so testy anymore, but his fierce energy hadn't subsided in the least and he ducked his head going down to the sixth level to lead a ride swiftly out of the city.

Just outside the Houses of Healing, however, a young woman, dressed quite strangely, ran up to him and insisted that she be permitted to ride with them. Boromir was perplexed for a half a moment before simply saying, "this is no pleasure ride, girl, get back to your home." He had no idea who he was dealing with.

"I know more danger than you!" she all but shouted. "I slew the Dwimmerlaik, and I will ride to Faramir! You cannot thwart me!"

Boromir sighed, sounding more like a growl, and said, "you must be Éowyn?" At her defiant nod he softened only slightly. "Listen, I have been a soldier for many years. You can do more for him by staying here than going out there."

"What can you possibly mean by -"

"I mean that a soldier has a better reason to hang on if he has a lady waiting for him at home. I know this, I have seen it many times. Brother, father, mother - none of them can get a man to survive long enough to get home the way a lady can. They all want to see her 'one last time,' and if they can hang on until we get them here and we can get them proper medicine, they have a better likelihood of living. If my little brother has a chance of getting back here, you are it."

So it was that Boromir, son of Denethor, had done what no man before him had ever managed: he had reasoned with Éowyn and she had acquiesced. Never mind the fact that he had made that whole thing up as a good reason to get Éowyn to stay in Minas Tirith. Boromir knew damned well (or thought he did anyway) that a man too close to death couldn't be halted on his last journey if he was already on it.

Boromir led the ride at a fast pace, even though the jostling was causing bolts of pain to shoot up his leg and nearly throw him from the saddle. Gritting his teeth against it and turning agony to anger, Boromir charged faster.

It did not take long for the men to catch up to the outlaws. They had gone into the trees with their unconscious hostage, and for all their planning, it was a foolish move, for they had not known of the ancient Woses who dwelt in the Drúadan forest and did not like the presence of treacherous strangers. When the guard moved in on them they were already being blocked by a group of very disturbing looking men. Anyone not native to Gondor, or particularly Minas Tirith, might have thought they were in for double trouble this time. Boromir did not give it a second thought, though, and commanded his troops to "slay all but the leader" and to find his little brother.

The work was quick and the evil-doers were rather easily dispatched. Boromir himself could tell which was the organizer of their attack, he was the one doing his best to get away the fastest. Boromir rode him down though and when the felon turned to raise his sword against the rider, Boromir brought his own sword down in an arc, cleanly removing the hand that once held a weapon. He shouted to one of his men to take that one, bind him, and see that he didn't die… yet.

Boromir saw that the fight was well in hand and allowed himself a moment to breathe. The pain was almost consuming him, though he'd taken no wound in this particular skirmish. He cringed and fought hard against the surge of aching that wouldn't leave him alone.

Someone was shouting for him and his horse moved practically on instinct toward the call. Coming closer he saw Captain Beregond kneeling beside a prone figure. A different, much keener pain started to rush Boromir until Beregond lifted the other man and brought him over to his Lord. "He unconscious, but alive, my Lord Boromir," Beregond said, obvious grateful as well.

"Let me bear him," Boromir said, reaching toward his brother, even though he knew he didn't need the extra weight pressing on his leg. "You did this for me once," he whispered, knowing Faramir couldn't hear him, "now we are even, little brother." Turning to his men, who had completed their mission perfectly, he said aloud, "Get that prisoner and let's get out of here and back into our beds." Boromir was guiding his horse to turn back to the city when something caught his eye further back in the trees. One of the Wild Men who had disappeared when the Gondorians showed up. The Druedan nodded slowly toward Boromir, who stared for a moment, then shifted Faramir's insensible weight off his sore leg, and nodded back to the strange person, conveying the great deal of thanks that he felt for their help.


	68. Birds of a Feather

The ride back to Minas Tirith took considerably longer. Boromir was, of course, at the fore, but his riding was not at its best. Ordinarily he could have moved a little more gracefully even with his brother balanced in front of him, but now his ankle was demanding that it be paid attention to, whether Boromir liked to or not. It made for uncomfortable and slow riding.

On the charge out, he was able to do as he always had, ignore the pain and go charging off. It was familiar territory for him and it was what he excelled at. Now, though, the enduring rush of a fight subsiding left nothing but for the pain to take its place. It wasn't just the pain in his ankle that was bothering him though, but the realization that he could have lost his brother so easily.

It wasn't as though there hadn't been situations that were exceedingly more dangerous for them both, in fact this had proved to be more like an exercise mission than anything else. It was just that this time it came home to him that the situation didn't have to be especially precarious for something to go wrong, and now he held tightly to Faramir, wishing he'd wake up and wondering how bad was the blow that had knocked him out. More than once one of his captains would offer to bear Faramir for a while, but Boromir declined.

It just made no sense to Boromir why his little brother, who was infinitely more sensible than he was, went dashing off toward an enemy force unarmed and alone, after dismissing the guards. Perhaps, Boromir thought, spending too much time in the library had finally done Fara's head in.

It wasn't until they had reached the city and had the provisional gates closed behind them that Boromir allowed Beregond to take Faramir on ahead to the Houses of Healing. "And have them get him into a double room," Boromir said in something of a growl because he could not speak elsewise through the pain, "I'll be joining him shortly." One of Boromir's men offered to aid his Lord out of the saddle, knowing how he must be hurting, but Boromir refused to. He knew too well that the moment he no longer had a huge horse holding him up he would crumple to the ground immediately.

Boromir then turned toward those who were guarding the one-handed prisoner. There was little that he could see of him even with the city lights around them. The Captain-General was well aware that he needed to keep his ire in check. It would be so easy to kill the prisoner then and there, it would have been even easier to kill him when he took his hand off, but being around Faramir so much had rubbed off a bit of Boromir. He felt absolutely no understanding for the enemy the way Faramir seemed to be able to do, rather Boromir had decided to spare the leader simply because he wanted answers. He'd decided that it was better to be informed of threats from the threat itself.

"Lock him up directly," Boromir growled again. "Someone get him a healer, but bring the healer _to_ the prisoner. Keep him alive and coherent until I can talk to him."

The orders were carried out without delay and Boromir waited until the prisoner was out of sight before leaning low in saddle and taking a tight grip of his horse's mane, his exhaustion and agony obvious. He could not even nudge the horse's flanks to signal him to move onward and his second took the reigns to lead the horse up to the sixth level where Boromir was helped down and was completely unable to bear his own weight.

Had Boromir not been so exhausted he would have been in a terror of a mood and shouting at nurses who were doing nothing wrong, nor even anything to cause him further discomfort. Injured Boromir rarely had any concept of what he was really saying and would apologize profusely afterward, of course, but not before more than one nurse had been reduced to tears and refused to do anything to treat him further.

Now, though, Boromir lay silently fuming that not just once, but twice that night he'd just _had_ to care so much about his little brother that he'd really taken a set-back on that damnable ankle of his. Every so often he'd glance over to the bed beside his to see if Faramir had come around yet, but alas, he was probably still having pleasant dreams of gadding about Rivendell as a lad or something to that effect. Much like the dreams Boromir himself often had of his youth in Dol Amroth.

Of course, he wasn't about to say so, but he was starting to get worried about Faramir, and the longer he was out for the count, the more words Boromir intended to have with him when he woke, likewise the more "words" he intended to have with that prisoner as soon as he regained use of his leg.

Eventually, though, exhaustion had it's way with Boromir and he fell asleep, only to be wakened a few hours later at dawn by a persistent cawing from outside on the window ledge. Mithrellas had come in to check on both of the brothers and Boromir's greeting to her was "get that bloody bird away from here!"

"Good morn' to you as well, little sandpiper," Mithrellas said with a tone that told Boromir that she was extremely annoyed with him for charging off in the middle of the night with an injury as he did, and yet her smile told him that she could not be more proud of him. She went to open the window to shoo away the bird, only apparently it was taken as an invitation and the feathered visitor flapped in and perched himself atop the headboard of the bed Faramir was still asleep in.

Boromir was about to throw whatever was in reach at the big, black crow, but Mithrellas stayed him, being more intuitive about these things. Besides, the last thing Faramir needed was for his brother to miss and strike his head instead.

"I do not want that filthy bird in here," Boromir began to protest, but the crow began to protest in his own language as though it took great umbrage at the term "filthy bird." The bird calmed immediately when Faramir began to stir.

"Carach?" Faramir mumbled, seemingly incoherently. The bird cawed unmistakably in response. Faramir's head ached and he decided against opening his eyes right away. The last thing he remembered was an unpleasant group of men rushing him and then that blow to his head…. Perhaps it was best to use other senses at the moment, Faramir figured, and noted that he was in a rather comfortable place, ostensibly a bed since he could tell there was a pillow under that mass of pain that he reckoned was still his head. He was completely unhindered by restraints also, but that just didn't stand to reason. He sensed the presence of others nearby, a Ranger always knew when he had company.

For a moment Boromir just looked as his brother shifted slightly, as if testing out his surroundings, but refused to open his eyes. And what was that he'd murmured, why was that familiar sounding? Dunland! It was all coming together, thought Boromir. Those crows that had fairly attacked the Fellowship were called _crebain_ and said to be from Dunland, and spies of Saruman. That one-handed prisoner currently waiting for Boromir's interrogation was a Dunlending. That was all Boromir needed to know, that bird was as good as carrion if he had anything to say about it.

"Faramir," he said, by way of greeting, "move aside so I can kill that bird." Not that he was entirely sure that Faramir was lucid enough to understand him, but it was sort of his way of finding out. The crow began to flap and squawk at Boromir, it certainly understood well enough!

"Boromir?" Faramir was entirely perplexed now and chanced to open his eyes very slightly, knowing that the light would cause a veritable explosion in his head. This was a healing room in Minas Tirith, sure enough, but how had he gotten here? How had Boromir gotten here? And why was his crow here?

"Good, you can hear me," Boromir said, "now move so I can kill that bird without hitting you."

Faramir tried to pull himself up a bit, but it made him rather dizzy. Instead he just reached his hand up, allowing the crow to perch on his fingers. He held the corvid close and stroked at its silky black plumage. Now dizzy as well as confused, Faramir spoke quietly. "What happened? How did Carach get here?"

Boromir looked at Faramir as though he was mad. Was he actually _petting_ that thing? The wretched traitors must have knocked the sense completely out of his little brother. "That thing flew in the window. Now, Faramir, please move so that it can be eliminated."

"What do you mean?" Faramir kept his eyes mostly shut, but shifted to lay so that he could see Boromir. "What happened?" he asked when he saw that his brother was not there as a visitor, but also a patient.

"Faramir, you are confused, just get away from the bird," Boromir insisted.

"Why? Carach must have found me for a reason. Boromir, tell me what happened." Although he'd admit that he was confused, Faramir knew that he was not mentally weakened as his brother seemed to think. And why ever did Boromir seem to have something against Carach?

"What happened! You went out to say good evening to an enemy, _alone_, and _utterly_ _unarmed_," Boromir said, his voice raising a good bit. He was plainly working himself up to a good shout.

Faramir decided that that wouldn't do, not in the Houses of Healing. "Boromir, it wasn't an enemy. I mean, I didn't think it was. I don't know who it was, but they knew me, they knew my family. What happened?"

Boromir was getting frustrated with his little brother asking that same question again and again. "Why don't you tell me that? _I_ am the one who deserves an explanation from _you_!"

Faramir now did close his eyes, he could just imagine Ioreth coming in any moment to berate them both about conduct in _her_ wing. Boromir was right though, Faramir did owe him an explanation. "I went out to the balustrade and saw a rather small group out by the edge of the Greywood," he said. "Your second had guards at every gate and a battalion of archers lined up, but he did not know who it was approaching. They bore light, but seemed to remain by the wood, as if they would not come to the City in the night. There was something strange about the light, though. It was muted and seemed to glow, as if not from a torch. That is how they knew they would fool me. From Minas Tirith they looked like Eldarim, and that message I'd received seemed to back it up. Only now do I realize why the hand of it was strange to me and seemed to be written in a rush."

It took Boromir a few moments to comprehend what Faramir was saying. "You mean that they made you think that they were Elves…. Then they could only have been after you. And _why_ is that bloody bird still here!"

"Yes, only me. But I still do not know why, or how they knew that I was raised in Imladris. How would anyone from Dunland know anything of me?"

"Probably through that bird!" Boromir cried. "The bloody things are spies for the evil wizard and according to what I have heard, said wizard has practically enthralled the population of Dunland to have them fight against Rohan for him."

Faramir shook his head, before he realized that such an action would hurt, and continued to smooth the feathers of the crow still perched almost defensively on his hand. "Carach is not a spy, Bor'. He's been with me in Ithilien since he was a fledgling."

"Fine, so he's a double agent. What's the difference? Kill it!"

Carach flapped and cawed unhappily at Boromir, and Faramir chuckled. "He says that if you say that one more time he's going to peck your eyes out. He doesn't think you are extraordinarily intelligent and doesn't know why I have spoken so well of you."

"Oh, doesn't he? How, by chance, would you know what _he_ is saying?"

"We communicate. I tried to tell you that, he's been my guide for years now. He's helped us avoid some quite nasty run-ins out there," Faramir explained.

"You _talk_ to crows?" Boromir said disbelievingly.

"Not entirely. He talks more to me than I do to him. He understands some Westron, more Sindarin, and can speak a few words of both, but still thinks people-language is unnecessarily verbose. And yet he can spend days in Fangorn listening to -"

"How do you understand what he says, Faramir?" Boromir interjected. "I know you were raised by Elves and all, but you are still one of us. Next you'll be telling me you talk to trees!"

"Well, not to them, but I do have an idea of what -" Faramir abandoned that train of thought when he saw the perturbed look on his brother's face. "Crows have a very clear and specific language, though it is simpler in it's meanings than human speech. Erestor taught me how to listen to their conversations and I was fascinated, so I began to learn what they meant. I could never understand as well as some Elves do, but I can understand them."

"You are absolutely certain that that bird is not and has never been a spy for an enemy?" Boromir asked somewhat dubiously.

"Perfectly sure of it," Faramir said, the dizziness beginning to wear off. "Furthermore, had you paid any attention, you would know that the crebain of Dunland are in fact Northwestern crows. Carach, as you can see, is not."

"You are a true riddle little brother," Boromir said shaking his head.

"As you say, but will you finally tell me what happened here? Why in the name of the Valar are you here too? If you tell me that you insisted someone help you down here, on that bad ankle, just because you were concerned about me, I might not speak to you again. Do you not know that rest is the great healer?"

"Faramir," Boromir began indignantly, "do you honestly think that I would have come to _this place_ just because you took a bump on the head!"

"Yes," Faramir smiled ironically. "I know you too well."

"Well you are wrong then. Of course I would not have done that. Do you honestly take me for soft? _If_ I were to do anything, I would have saddled up and lead a party out to Grey Wood to kill the heathens and bring you back here. Naturally."

Faramir glared dangerously at Boromir for a long while and Boromir held his gaze steadily, proving to Faramir that he had in fact done so and would do so again if ever the situation warranted it. Faramir desperately wanted to tell his brother off about that bit of foolishness, but he realized that he had no right at the moment to be criticizing anyone for imprudence. And, truthfully, Faramir couldn't help the smile that crept across his lips when he realized that he owed his brother his life, and that Boromir would never consider it a debt. "Thank you, Boromir," he said quietly.

"Do not _thank_ me! You do not know how much pain I am in now for it. Anyway, I swore to your father I'd keep you safe, not about to break my word to the King, now am I? You've always dragged me out of worse, so I owed it to you." Leave it to Boromir to downplay what he'd done. "Speaking of your 'ada'," he said gesturing toward the night stand, "someone brought that letter there just after I came in last night. Best make sure you know who really sent it this time. Ask that bird maybe."

Carach only gave a mild caw, as if still indignant but now also seeing that Boromir was worthy of his reputation of honor. "Ada is sending a 'delegation,'" Faramir said mildly confused, "to help us with an important decision." Faramir had no idea what his father could mean, perhaps he had his own input regarding the nightmare that the planning of the coronation was turning out to be. Faramir had a frightened thought… what if this delegation included his twin uncles? He didn't think he could handle them loose in Minas Tirith at the moment and whoever it was would be due to arrival later that night.

Boromir had another thought. "Whomever he wants to delegate had best be soft and beautiful!"

Mithrellas had decided to send her own delegate to check on Faramir. Though he felt perfectly fine, and ordinarily would have insisted on being allowed to get up and get to work, the delegate Mithrellas sent was one that Faramir did not wish to argue with. Mostly because he knew he would never win, but also because he had to admit that he wanted to be in her company as much as possible.

Boromir made it a point to roll over whenever Eowyn came in the room (he could only do so because he had been given a tea that effectively numbed the pain in his ankle, thus making him at least somewhat sufferable again). He lay there eavesdropping for a few moments before he got completely bored of listening to their sickly sweet discussion and decided to pretend to fall asleep, snoring loudly. It was just about then that Carach flew back in through the open window, perching upon Faramir's headboard and startling Eowyn.

Boromir could swear that bird was actually chuckling! He was proved right whenever Eowyn left again and Faramir said to the crow, "I cannot believe you would take _his_ side!"


	69. Help Arrives

Later that evening Faramir was sitting at the edge of the bed with just a mild ache left in his head. He felt fine enough and was growing restless. Faramir never could stand to lay about all the time. Carach had decided that he was happy enough to roost just outside the window for the night. Faramir sat listening to the sleeping sounds the crow made occasionally and to the sounds of the city as it grew quieter with the night. He found he missed the sounds of the woods at night, and greatly missed the sounds of Imladris at night, when the valley was filled with soft songs mingling with the rushing of the river.

"Might want to get some sleep, Faramir," Boromir muttered, obviously already halfway to sleep himself. Ordinarily Boromir, too, would be growing incredibly restless, but the medicine which dulled the pain also made him quite sleepy, though not nearly as sleepy as that poppy infusion he'd had a while back. If one asked Faramir, however, it was really just because Boromir was growing used to lazing around and having everyone wait upon him.

Before long Boromir's snores were what was most audible in the room and Faramir went to sit in the window, picking up Carach and settling the bird on his lap without waking him. Faramir was looking up to the night sky, his back to the door and his attention focused on the stars which shone so clearly as he stroked his resting feathered friend.

Across the street from the Houses, two riders dismounted, their horses taken in to the stables for them. Beregond was keeping post at the gate before the tunnel that night and recognized one rider immediately. It was hard not to with that long white beard and rather imperious staff.

"Mithrandir!" Beregond said, bowing to the Wizard.

"None of that, Beregond, you know it is not necessary. Tell me, how do you fare? And your young boy?" Gandalf asked.

"We are well, thank you," Beregond replied, only there seemed to be some hesitation in his tone.

Gandalf looked at the guard for a moment, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You have nothing to fear, Beregond. Trust me," he said with a wink. "Now then, where might Faramir be found at this hour?"

Faramir continued to stare upward at the glittering multitude, wishing he'd had an instrument in his hands. There was some music in his heart that he was longing to express, by either flute or harp. Whereas his ada preferred to sing, Faramir was happier with more outward channels of his thoughts and feelings.

"Well! I hadn't thought you would still be here!" said a familiar voice by the door.

Faramir turned to look. "Mithrandir, what are you doing here?" he said with a small smile. The Wizard was always turning up when one least expected.

"I believe I implied that same question but a moment ago," Gandalf replied.

'So he does not wish to say his purpose straight away,' Faramir thought and knew that he could play the same game. "So, you are one of the delegates? What sort of difficulty are you giving my ada that he sends you here to be a pest to us instead?"

Gandalf smirked at Faramir. It was incredibly clear that, regardless of direct blood descent, Faramir was still Elrond's grandson in the way that Aragorn was his son. Elrond had clearly made it a point to pass on his ability to back talk even the Maiar. Gandalf could already see Elrond riposte to Manwë in such a manner as soon as he crossed to the West, clearly the family's entire history involved finagling their superiors, from Melian on down! And so Gandalf decided again to change the subject, noting that Faramir had been looking star-ward before he announced himself. "The Hunter is yet in the sky, along with the Seven Sisters." Now and then Gandalf had a habit of stating the obvious.

"Valier, Queens of the Valar, sisters and wives of divine," Faramir said softly, recalling a line from a song that Glorfindel used to sing all the time.

"I see that my spy has continued to keep an eye on you as well," Gandalf said with that nearly smug smile of his.

"I thought Carach must know you as well."

"Yes… well, we cannot always take _everything_ on faith, can we?"

"I trust that all is well, is it not?" Faramir said, now wanting to get to the point of the matter.

"Of course it is. I would have told you directly otherwise." Gandalf sounded slightly indignant, as if Faramir did not trust him with important information. "I did have someone else along with me, but it seems he's been waylaid. That does not surprise me in this house. What does surprise me, however, is that I find both you and Boromir here. And since what I have come for concerns him as well, it would be most helpful if he would _wake up_."

The elder Wizard punctuated his words by jabbing his staff into Boromir's back, causing the man to wake with a yelp. "What is the idea of this?" Boromir demanded. "I've got an injured ankle!"

"Aye, and although I am not a healer, as such, when I can avoid it, the last time I noticed the ankle is not located in the middle of the back," Gandalf said gruffly.

"Mithrandir?" a voice out in the hallway called.

"Uncle?" Boromir called back in surprise.

"Bori'?" Imrahil entered the room, more than a little surprised to find his nephew… well, both nephews really, in the Houses of Healing. Embracing Boromir he asked, "what are you doing here, lad?"

"Just what I would like to know," Gandalf said, making himself comfortable and pulling out a pipe, expecting a long explanation. Faramir half glared at the Wizard, pipeweed was not his favorite of scents and if Elrond ever caught such a thing in a healing ward….

"It was all his fault," Boromir said morosely, pointing at Faramir.

"It is not my fault that you are stubborn and determined to be in the lead no matter what," Faramir retorted.

Imrahil was glancing between his two nephews, wondering just what this was all about.

"It's a good thing I am stubborn or you'd be in Dunland by now, with that bloody bird!"

"Dunland?" Imrahil said concerned.

"Nazgûl couldn't fly that fast you fool!" Faramir said exasperated.

"Faramir, my dear little brother here, went off last night to welcome in a host a Dunlendings without armament of any kind and after having told the guard to retire for the night," Boromir said smugly.

Imrahil stared and Gandalf nearly choked on the smoke from his pipe.

"Thank you, Boromir," Faramir said sulkily. "What happened was rather different from my perspective, as they somehow knew it would be. I was set up to believe that daerada was coming here. But I cannot fathom how they knew that I had anything to do with Rivendell, it is not common knowledge in any place, least of all Dunland."

Gandalf was now taking long draws on his pipe and looked to be thinking deeply on that information.

"What happened to you, Faramir?" Imrahil asked, genuinely concerned even if he didn't understand how one could mistake Dunlendings for Elves.

"Nothing really, it was just a bump on the head. I am fine, though I have been confined here all day. I have gotten a thing done, I cannot find anything in the records of coronation rites that can possibly be used, especially since there hasn't been a King for 1000 years."

Imrahil smiled slightly. "That is part of the reason why we are here. And what of you, Bori'? How did you end up here?"

"That is the interesting tale," Faramir piped up. "You see, my brother, who was recuperating quite nicely, decided that he should take it upon himself to lead a highly experienced group of men out to Grey Wood to 'rescue' me, and in doing so, he further injured his ankle, which I would not blame if it refused to ever heal at this point."

"Oh, a man does love to be thanked for his _painstaking_ efforts. Don't forget to tell them how I tweaked it the first time last night. When you were having that bad dream and I thought that something was genuinely wrong and came into your chambers to make sure you weren't being throttled."

"Throttled! You said you came in expecting to find me in bed with…." Faramir abruptly trailed off, pink tingeing his cheeks. "Truce?" Faramir conceded rather rapidly, reaching over to Boromir's bed from his own.

Boromir just grinned. "Perhaps…."

"Well, gentlemen," Gandalf said, finding it time to change to the subject, yet again. "Mayhap we ought to all get some sleep before we get into anything, but just so that you are aware, Aragorn has sent Prince Imrahil and myself here to settle the matter of Stewardship with the two of you. After all, the public cannot be doing with this sort of confusion. And we also bring some input from himself regarding the coronation that every one is _so_ looking forward to."

Sleep was agreed to all around before any further discussion was promulgated.


	70. How to Treat an Infected Wound

Imrahil and Gandalf were about to leave the two brothers to their sleep when Gandalf had a moment of recollection. "You'll excuse me for a moment, Imrahil, I wanted to have a word with a friend," Gandalf said, going back into the chamber and leaning out the window where Carach was perched. "Oh, Faramir," he said turning, "you wouldn't mind accompanying your uncle up to the Citadel, would you?"

"Of course not, Mithrandir," Faramir said, glad for an excuse to get out of the Houses. He hoped to sleep in a proper bed that night, although it would mean leaving his half-brother on his own. Faramir glanced at Boromir in question.

"Go," Boromir said, sounding like he didn't care who went where as long as they let him rest. "I intend to get some sleep tonight and tomorrow I am returning to my own chambers, regardless of what anyone has to say about it."

"Naturally," Faramir said, by now immune to his brother's ranting.

A while longer Gandalf spent with his head out the window discussing something with the large black crow that had been sleeping peacefully. Boromir watched this strangeness for a moment before shaking his head and turning over to go back to sleep.

"How are you feeling, Boromir?" Gandalf asked, looking more like he was still talking to the crow.

"Tired," Boromir muttered, hoping that was just an attempt at sociability by the wizard and that he'd take the hint and let him alone.

Gandalf chuckled rather humorlessly, now turning away from the crow, and said, "Lad, we are _all_ tired. It might be said that you have had more rest than any of us at this point. I want to know _what_ you are feeling."

Boromir now turned as well to face the wizard. "What I am feeling about what?"

"About Aragorn's claim, about your half-brother's position in the city, about your own position… about your father's death."

Boromir half shrugged. "What I feel? I don't really feel anything." His expression belied that though with a look of determination that he should not feel anything, lest he fall back into that helplessly weak state of emotion he had been in before. "I would sooner have a King than not, and if he is not from Anarion's line, his brother's line is good enough for me. I would be very happy if Faramir could stay Steward and I could stay in command of the military. And my father is dead - how he died, when, where, if he was buried or burned or is carrion on the Pelennor yet for that crow, I know not and so I have nothing to feel about it. I suppose none know, so often it happens in battle that someone becomes so maimed that no one recognizes the corpse until an identifying sigil is turned up from the ashes of the dead."

Gandalf raised his brow momentarily, Boromir's choice of words was interesting to him. "There are those who know, Boromir. Five of us were there and saw."

"I had heard that the House of the Stewards collapsed during the battle, but it was my hope that it would be rebuilt and that my father should in some way be remembered there, if he can not rest there himself." Boromir was quiet for a moment. "He gave the best of himself to the Stewardship."

"I think that you are correct in that," Gandalf mused. "Although there is not a need for any sort of cenotaph at the House of the Stewards."

Boromir gave Gandalf a look as if to ask just why he thought his father shouldn't be remembered amongst all the other Stewards. His need to know what had happened to his father won out though. "You say you saw his fall?" Boromir said, sounding cautious.

"Yes, I did, Boromir. Tell me, you recollect nothing from the time that Faramir found you at Osgiliath until you wakened in your own chambers?"

"Nothing," Boromir said, unable to believe that Gandalf seemingly decided to skip right over his father's demise.

"Well, then, I think that there is much for me to explain." Gandalf made himself comfortable once again and took up his pipe, lighting it this time. "As I understand it, Faramir was trying to get you and the rest of his men back here to the City when it was clear that there would be no proving anything at Osgiliath. You had fallen unconscious and he had taken up on the same horse, but was knocked off when hit by a fell arrow. Meanwhile, Imrahil's troops were taking the field and trying to hold off the enemy forces. Imrahil shouted for Eldor to get the horse with it's unconscious rider back to the City as he himself went to help Faramir. Eldor himself was hit in the process and when he reached the gates, no one ever bothered to find out who was the insensible one, they just sent you both to the Houses.

"Now, Imrahil, instead of taking Faramir to the Houses as well, went to the Citadel with him. As he has told me, he hoped that Denethor would see reason if he saw what had happened to Faramir. It surprises me that Imrahil had that much faith in him, but clearly he has always wanted to know his sister's second-born and thought it natural that Denethor would as well. Denethor seemed to be distraught over Faramir and took him into the Tower himself, whereupon he quickly locked himself in and refused to come out or so much as speak to anyone else. Imrahil was irate, but he felt that he had to trust that Denethor would get Faramir the help he needed. Evidently he did not know how far from reason Denethor was by then."

Boromir was looking troubled by the way Gandalf spoke of Denethor's madness, and the wizard tried to be less blunt about the way he was putting things, but it was rather difficult to sugarcoat the facts and still explain the truth.

"It was before dawn when Denethor finally emerged from the Tower and had guards take up Faramir's body. When Pippin saw them, they were going toward Rath Dinen, which I had pointed out to him when we first arrived."

"Rath Dinen?" Boromir cut in. "Why would father go there? Did he think to shelter Faramir there?"

"You must understand, Boromir, I do not believe that your father really understood that it was Faramir by that point. I am certain that he believed it was you who he was bearing away and he… well, as I was saying, that was when Pippin came to find me in the middle of fighting off the spawn of Mordor. I might as well tell you this now, as Aragorn will have to sit in judgment of this matter when he returns here, but the Keeper of the Keys was slain at his post and when we came to the Hallows we found two guards dead and two more bearing torches being kept away from Faramir by Beregond."

"Beregond?" Boromir asked in pure surprise. Beregond was one of the most singularly loyal men Boromir had ever encountered.

Gandalf simply nodded and continued. "Denethor emerged from the House of the Stewards… he and I had a _discussion_ and I myself lifted Faramir from the pyre built within the House."

"Pyre?" Boromir whispered fearfully.

"Boromir, he said over and over that it was his wish that he and his 'son' go into death together. He was no longer himself by then."

"He would have burnt Faramir alive…. But why did he go there? My father was a warrior and he would have stood -"

"Just as I encouraged him to do. But that was when he brought forth a palantir. I knew then that there was no going back for him. Just the way he laughed when he held the orb… I could see that Sauron had gained quite a lot of access to Minas Tirith long before any orcs breached the Gates. Denethor would have advised everyone to flee from the fight, to abandon Minas Tirith to Mordor. That was the work of Sauron."

Boromir shuddered, remembering what his father had shown him just before he and Faramir set out for Rivendell. It had left Boromir in a terrible state, just for looking upon the thing once, and it was the same feeling that overtook him when the Ring had been too persistent. To think of his father having used the thing for so many years, Boromir understood well how his father's senses were not wholly his own.

"When Beregond blocked him from striking at Faramir with a dagger, he commanded his guards to bring the fire to him and he put himself upon the pyre." Boromir's eyes displayed no reaction, clearly expecting more information. "That was when I bid Beregond to take up Faramir and we rushed to the Houses. We heard the House collapse behind us and the guards who had initially remained fled to us."

For a very long while Boromir laid still, an unnatural stillness meant to display calm, but in truth betraying his shaken-ness to the trained observer. Gandalf knew enough not to disturb the silence just yet, Boromir needed the moment to be within himself.

Finally, with a very soft, somewhat ragged exhale of breath, Boromir spoke. "Then he planned to take his own life, to flee from the danger and leave everyone else to -" Anger rose up swiftly in the Gondorian and he swore violently, not bothering to keep his voice low anymore. "The coward!" he cried in ire.

"You must understand, Boromir, using the palantír too often, with Sauron at the other end, robbed your father of his -"

"Do not call him _that_ in my presence any longer! Who is to know if he was really mad at all? If, as you say, he thought Fara' was me, and yet he knew the body was living, is it not just as terrible that he would have incinerated me, even if that was his madness? Or if he was not mad, that he would have killed my little brother in cold blood, because was that not he wanted when he would leave those Rangers out there without any sort of connection to home for months on end? _Tell me_ he hasn't wanted Fara' dead since the day of his birth, _tell me_ that had it not been for Aragorn having enough courage to take my little brother away from here…. Let us not endeavor to rebuild the House of the Stewards, let him rot in the rubble of his own destruction for all time. Please it the gods that I NEVER am like that orc of a man!"

Gandalf did not respond.

When Boromir spoke again he was quiet and sounded exhausted. "Was he ever a good, sound man, Mithrandir? Were those first five years of my life the exception?"

"No, Boromir, for many years Denethor was not what he had become in the end," Gandalf assured. "I am truly sorry to have had to bring you these tidings, I know that there are those who believe I never come with aught but bad news. I do not refute that, it has been so for a long time now that there has been much more bad news than good in Middle-earth. Perhaps such is my doom, for I would choose to herald joys much sooner." The wizard stopped his contemplative rant when he saw how Boromir's eyes had begun to glisten.

"Can you tell me of one good thing he ever did?" Boromir whispered.

Gandalf sighed. "I think that Denethor would have done many good things, but I think that many of his good intentions were twisted in the end to Sauron's will. Unfortunately I did not know the former Steward closely enough to know his heart in many things, but I did know this much: he loved his son _fiercely_, even when he felt duty-bound not to show it and even despite the sway of the palantír."

"I hope Faramir knows how fortunate he is," Boromir muttered, "to have a _real_ father."

Gandalf said nothing, but handed Boromir a flask.

"Miruvor? I doubt even this draught can warm my heart right now," Boromir said miserably, though he did not refuse a mouthful. Though he was resigned to spending the night awake, mulling over all this new information, the drink worked with speed and soon Boromir was asleep, and untroubled.


	71. The Inquisition

Groaning, Boromir reluctantly opened his eyes with morning's light. He'd hoped that he might not remember the chat he'd had with the Wizard the night before, but, naturally it was right there at the fore of his mind, first thing. Growling, Boromir moved to try to get himself out of bed, thoroughly disgusted with all this laying around.

"Don't even think about it," Faramir said from the other side of the room.

"It feels fine," Boromir protested, knowing that his little brother was worried about his ankle.

Faramir rolled his eyes, Boromir was a terrible liar. "Listen, Bor'… I was talking with Mithrandir last night and -"

"So was I, sure he told you the same thing he told me, eh?"

Reading the slightly defeated look in his half-brother's eyes, Faramir nodded. "I'm so sorry about all of it. I had no notion that my coming here would cause such terrible -"

"Wasn't your coming, Far'. It was _his_ own fault for inviting the bleeding Dark Lord right into the fu- the Citadel. Brother…." Faramir rushed over hearing Boromir's voice break like that and held onto him tightly. "You've gotten me through so much. I would not be here if not for you. And honestly, my ankle does feel fine."

Faramir had tears standing in his eyes to hear the ragged quality of his big brother's voice, until he heard that last line. "Damn you, you fool," Faramir said softly. "Broken bones do not heal over night. Especially not ones that have been treated as miserably as you treat yours!"

"I love you, too, brother," Boromir pouted. "And that means I don't lie… to you, more than necessary. And anyway, I need to take a swing at someone and I would rather it be that Dunlending scum waiting my interrogation than you."

"Well, I would rather it be me," Faramir said seriously. "They might not be the most trustworthy of Men, but that man doesn't deserve to bear your anger over your father's fate either."

"Fine, I won't hit the bastard, too much, as long as he answers my questions to my satisfaction," Boromir conceded.

Faramir shook his head though. "I still think you should stay where you are. Elsewise it might just be easier for the surgeon to take that leg off. Hurt it any further and I can't guarantee that you won't end up with blood poisoning."

"I'm telling you that it feels just fine. I don't know why, but it does, and I am not about to argue with it."

"And I'm telling you that that is not possible, Boromir. Believe me, it just doesn't happen."

"Oh, I think that Boromir's ankle had a little… assistance," said the familiar, conspiring voice of a wizened Wizard at the door.

Faramir cocked his head just slightly, unknowingly looking almost exactly like his father.

"After you drugged me?" Boromir said, sounding just a little accusatory.

"No! After you drink a bit of Miruvor. Of course, it wouldn't work well with you wide awake, would it?" Gandalf said.

"Well, fine then, that means I can go have a chat with Faramir's friend now and my dear brother can't keep me off my feet any longer," Boromir said with something approaching glee.

"Oh, you are certainly able to go about whatever business you might need to attend to. But be warned that after so much time abed, you might not have as much energy for all things as you are used to having," the conjurer cautioned.

"I'll deal with that," Boromir promised. "Let us break fast first of all, though. And not here, what they call food here is only for the dying and otherwise extremely ill who don't recognize swill when it's put in front of them. I was given some kind of stew yesterday that would have killed a wraith!"

* * *

After taking an impromptu meal in Merethrond with his brother, uncle, and inherited pesky Wizard, Faramir hurried back down to the Houses of Healing. He'd wanted to make sure he was near when his brother woke that morning after the talk he'd had with Gandalf the night before, but he also wanted to spend a bit of time with a certain lady who was making the Houses her abode for the time being. Seeing as how Boromir intended to busy himself with a prisoner, Faramir decided to stay out of his way.

Faramir was directed to the garden to find Éowyn by Mithrellas who in turned asked Faramir where his brother had gotten off to. She promised that if he was fool enough to go running about on that abused ankle again, she refused to do anything to treat it further. Faramir just laughed, not blaming the Lady from Dol Amroth a bit, but he also reassured her that everything was all right, only having to say that "Mithrandir had a hand in it." As Faramir went off toward the garden to find his lady, Mithrellas couldn't help but think of what her dearest friend Fin' would have thought to see both her boys grown up and having taken so to each other. She could just see Finduilas's laughing smile at their brotherly antics.

As Faramir approached the garden gate he heard gales of laughter that sounded distinctly feminine, and animated words that were distinctly masculine. Éowyn, he could see, was sitting with a dark-haired man, his back to Faramir, but looking rather familiar. Neither noticed him as he listened to the tale being told:

"And then the Captain nearly fell over the ledge and down with the falls into the pool. And all I could think to say to my old friend was, 'Mab', if he falls into the Forbidden Pool, do we still get to shoot him?'"

Faramir blushed over remembering the tale that Damrod was engaged in. It was years ago in Ithilien, they had just received a little provisional consignment that included what was supposed to have been the regulation watered-down wine that was delivered to the stationed Rangers each season. Only the wine hadn't been _watered_ down at all. In fact it had had its potency added to by some fool back in the City who did not realize that such an idiotic and immature action could have seriously jeopardized the Rangers. Now, however, Faramir wondered if there wasn't something (or _someone_) more vengeful to the incident after all.

Damrod shook his head at the recollection and smiling at Éowyn, said sincerely, "you are a very lucky lady, if I may say so, Lady Éowyn. Captain Faramir is of the absolute highest quality."

Éowyn had just caught sight of the Captain in question over by the doorway, and looking directly at him she responded proudly, "I know that he is, and there is no luckier woman than I, not in all of Middle-Earth."

* * *

Boromir made his way down through the City on horseback. Though he would have preferred to walk it, since he had been off his feet for so bloody long, he accepted the wisdom of his uncle's advice that riding would be much quicker and more intimidating, should the prisoner he spoke of see him coming. Boromir accepted the salutes, greetings, and well-wishes he was offered, but when anyone asked him of the Stewardship, he would only smile and wink. As far as he was concerned, he was leaving that hornet's nest for the King to deal with – as first order of business, hopefully.

It took quite some time getting all the way down to the first level of the city and over to the prison. Boromir had the jailer open the door to the cell where the Dunlending was laying, presumably asleep, in a rather unclean corner – not that any of it was any more cleanly. The prisoner shifted slightly forward when the cell door was opened, indicating immediately to Boromir that he had not been mistreated, but fed and given medical care, all per his own instructions. That was well, as far as Boromir was concerned, not only did he need this… person, to answer some questions, but then it was wholly his pleasure… erm… _responsibility_ to see justice done.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith," Boromir said, with a broad smile and extended hand.

The stranger apparently did not instantly grasp that an extended hand was a greeting, the ways of Dunland were so strange to the rest of the world of Men. Boromir did not react, leaving his hand outstretched, and after a moment the other got the gist and reciprocated the gesture with the hand he still had left. Boromir quickly closed strong fingers about the hand just offered and in one swift, expert motion, pulled the prisoner to stand whilst simultaneously delivering a punch to knock him back down.

"In case you don't understand, I am Boromir, Gondor's Captain-General, and that was _my_ little brother you rats attacked out there," he explained with false geniality, figuring it best to keep the titles less than complicated. A slight sweat was beginning to form on the warrior's brow and with it he realized that it had been quiet some while since he remembered having any strength to speak of. He was going to have to either make this quick or conserve his energy a little better.

"Impossible!" the Dunlending spat, still grimacing from that blow to the solar plexus. Had that punch been a little harder it might have had much more severe effects.

"That's what I thought at first as well," Boromir said, then lowered his voice to a quite menacing level, "but it is so and I will be consigned to the fires of Mount Doom before I let someone get away with harming my brother."

"No harm was done him," the prisoner protested.

"No harm? Knocked unconscious and dragged away is no harm to you?" Boromir was getting angry and angrier as images of what Mithrandir had explained the night before kept resurfacing. Faramir had said that morning that the Dunlending didn't deserve to bear Boromir's anger over his father's fate, but it wasn't Denethor's death that was plaguing Boromir at the moment as much as what he'd sunken to just before his suicide. It was the realization that his mother might have lived longer had she been permitted to visit Dol Amroth more often. It was the fact that, after his father's one visit to Dol Amroth when Finduilas had finally escaped, there were no communications from him whatsoever. Boromir, seeing nothing but red, grasped the prisoner by the neck, hauled him up against the cell wall, and rained the blows against him.

"Why were you after him?" Boromir shouted his inquisition, and the wretch had best answer to his satisfaction, because his rage was only going to give him a certain amount of strength at that moment.

"_We_ were not," Boromir's captive snarled through the pain rapidly making itself known.

It was not the right answer. "You and your party came here specifically after my little brother," Boromir hissed. "Now tell me why."

"Are you his keeper?" sneered the Dunlending. "He came riding out to us, as you might know."

Boromir glowered deeply and drew out a knife, not a particularly impressive weapon at all, but it would serve his purpose, he was rather sure. There was a steely look in the captive's eye, defying Boromir to go ahead and slit his throat before he got the answers he sought. Only, Boromir did not bring the knife upward, but downward, pressing it against something much more valuable to a man than his miserable life. Boromir smirked when the steel in those eyes suddenly evaporated into terror.

"Now then… why Faramir?" he asked, resuming that cool geniality. Truth be told, he would have loved to beat the words out of the scum, but he really didn't have the strength for it and he knew too well that he could end up in a bad situation if he didn't calm down and conserve energy.

"The White Wizard…" the captive ground out. "It was him who sent us."

"Saruman?" said another voice back by the cell door, "what does he know of me?"

"Faramir, go, this does not concern you," Boromir growled at his brother.

"Clearly it does. I won't stop you, by all means, go on. But I should like to know why I was targeted. How am I known to Saruman?"

The Dunlending did not answer immediately, and Boromir pressed the knife a little deeper. A whimpering yelp was heard, quickly followed by the explanation that was sought. The White Wizard had seen the man as a baby boy being secretly stolen away by a Ranger and another Wizard. Saruman knew that he'd been taken to Imladris and had only returned to Minas Tirith some 20 years later. It was Saruman who sent forth the false letter and had instructed the Dunlendings on how to maintain the appearance of an Elven company from a distance.

"Why?" Faramir asked evenly.

The Dunlending stared directly at Faramir, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in Arda. "Because Sauron failed," he answered simply.

"Failed to what?" Boromir growled, beating Faramir to the question.

"To destroy him," the Dunlending replied quickly and rather quietly, certain that the Captain-General would not like that answer.

Boromir did not and slammed the man's head against the cell wall.

"Stop, Boromir!" Faramir shouted. "He's telling the truth… I understand it now, much of it."

"You promised you wouldn't stop me!" Boromir protested. "Justice is owed yet, and I would see it done."

"Let my father decide?" Faramir asked of his brother, the sincerity clear in his eyes.

Boromir glared at his little brother for wearing that _look_ and sighed dramatically. "Fine," he capitulated, shoving the prisoner away from him with a quite dirty look and walking away. "Don't know what's to decide…," he was heard grumbling up the long, dark hallway out of the prisons.

There was a slightly uneasy quiet between Faramir and the Dunlending for a few moments before the prisoner rasped out, "why'd you do that?"

"Because it was not your fault," Faramir replied. "I have seen too many enemies fall without ever understanding them. My father tells me that thanks in part to your people I survived my first few months of life, otherwise I would have surely starved. I am willing to see that side of your folk and find a way to reconcile our peoples, if at all possible."

The Dunlending just looked at him.

"We shall speak again?" Faramir said. "Just now I think I had best talk with my brother, he shall understand this less than you do. My name is Faramir… though you likely know that already," Faramir said extending his hand.

The prisoner drew back swiftly at the outstretched hand, so Faramir let it drop. "I am called Baugcoru in your tongue," was the reply.

"Cruel-cunning?" Faramir translated. "I have yet to see the cruelty," he said kindly with a smile as he departed.


	72. At the Pavilion of Gondor's Bridegroom

Gandalf and Imrahil were waiting for Boromir when he emerged from the tunnel up to the Citadel. Both were surprised by what they saw.

"Bori'?" Imrahil questioned, "did it go all right? No blood on you, lad," he said cautiously.

Boromir considered telling his uncle that he'd washed it away already. "No, Faramir stopped by and wouldn't let me kill the bastard. Wants his _ada_ to pass judgment," he said with a pout.

Gandalf smirked. "Faramir's sense of justice is keen, it always has been."

"Likewise, Boromir has always been very protective, regardless of what he had to do to safeguard those he loves," Imrahil said, a small proud smile lighting the Prince's sea-blue eyes.

"I am certain that Aragorn will be overjoyed to make such a judgment first thing when he gets back here!" Gandalf said, and was that a slight drop of sarcasm?

It wasn't long before Faramir too emerged from the tunnel, with a large black bird perched on his shoulder. "Carach says you would do well to listen to me, Boromir," Faramir said, teasing evident in his tone.

Boromir just glared at his brother. "I still need to work out some energy you know, Master Crow. I'd be happy to test how much strangulation a crow can stand."

Carach ruffled up his feathers, but did not respond otherwise.

"I can offer you a sparring partner, though I would suggest you take some rest first," Faramir said.

"I have heard of your skill, nephew," Imrahil said to Faramir, "and I for one would love to see you in action. Though I must speak honestly, I have my doubts that you could best Boromir. I taught him the sword myself."

Faramir just smiled to his uncle, he would introduce him to his sword-master later.

From there on Faramir bested Boromir daily at sword work, though he felt no pride in it at all. Clearly his brother, though healed, still had a long way to go to recovery. Boromir growled about it a good bit, but for him it was only incentive at work all the harder.

Evenings were spent getting back to the laborious annals of Gondor's kings-passed. The general atmosphere of the Coronation was no difficulty: lots of people, well-dressed, the City well-decked, feasting, and so on. That was all well and good, but it was for absolutely nothing without that little ceremony, which just did not seem to be worked out no matter how Faramir turned it. It didn't help that the "rules" were all so convoluted and contradictory. One said that the heir to the deceased King was to have been handed the Crown and scepter and such by his father on his deathbed – clearly that would not work in this situation. There was also something about a City elder presenting the new King with the Crown on the steps of the Tower of Ecthelion, but Faramir knew that his father did not wish to enter the City without "due process."

One evening Faramir had received a message from his father saying that they were breaking "camp" at Cormallen in a couple days and would be heading toward the City, it would only be a few days. It was about that time that an immense influx of people arrived at Minas Tirith, having _somehow_ heard that there was to be a Coronation coming up. Faramir swore he would strangle whatever fool let that word get forth, for now he had less than no time to prepare and still had so many dignitaries to greet and get settled… somewhere.

It didn't take much for Boromir to see how overwhelmed Faramir was and though his initial instinct was to stay out of it as much as possible, he had to do something to help him. Though it took a lot of him to greet some of the visitors (he was disgusted every time some young, hale man from some fiefdom showed his face and declared to be of whatever lofty station; more than once Boromir only just held himself back from having "words" about loyalty and why every possible man should have been at the Black Gate with their King), it seemed to take a lot of the pressure from Faramir and let him concentrate on putting something together. And anyway, Boromir was pleased to see so many of the people he knew from his youth in Dol Amroth again and he and Imrahil made quite social butterflies of themselves with their seafaring countrymen. The City was coming to life in an amazing way: flowers, music, laughter, filling the streets as had not been for more years than Men can know.

Still Faramir kept himself in the library frequently, until he needed to come up for air. Clearly nothing had been resolved regarding the ceremony, but Faramir's secret was that he was no longer trying so hard. He was now taking advantage of the library's other literary capacities and had decided that the Coronation would either come to him by the appointed time or it would not. If not, he had a plan stored away, just in case.

Boromir had officially gotten nervous about the whole thing when one evening as he was heading to the library to drag his little brother up for supper, he spotted pavilions dotting the further end of the Pelennor like sheep in a verdant pasture.

Faramir was so involved in _Gilfanon's Tale _that he jumped, startled, when Boromir called his name in the library. "I'm dearly hoping you've got it all settled, brother mine," Boromir said in a rather pleading tone.

"Not at all. Why?" Faramir asked, Boromir hadn't really been very interested in the process up to that point.

"Please, Faramir, just tell me that it is all worked out and that it will all be legal and binding, and certain people won't be able to make any challenges," Boromir said, sitting down heavily. A bit too heavily for the ancient chairs in the deep of the library, for the thing collapsed from under him. "For Eru's great, shining bollocks!" Boromir shouted in wrath.

It was then Faramir's turn to collapse, in laughter. Whatever would he have done without his brother!

"Oh, well, right, hilarious for you. You aren't the one with a stick up your…. Gods, never mind! It isn't really that funny."

"It is from where I'm sitting," Faramir smirked.

"I'll have you for that, mark my words!" Boromir threatened.

"Well, if I were you, I'd ask the stick first… it might get jealous, you know," Faramir handed back ever so fluently. "Who's challenges?" Faramir said, offering to help his brother up and switching the subject easily.

"Challenges? What chal- ah, right. Thing is, Far', there are those here, of a certain faction… you see, they don't really think that Isildur's line is the right line. I always figured it was a moot point, so I paid rather little attention to it all. But…," Boromir shrugged, "some of them are rather adamant about it."

"Your father was one," Faramir said quietly.

"And I am _many_ things that he was not," Boromir said stubbornly. "I will stand for Aragorn until the last."

Faramir smiled and whispered "_hannon le, muindor-nin_."

"But the point, little brother, is this: we need something by _dawn_." Boromir sounded purely alarmed.

Faramir on the other hand smiled even brighter. "Then my father has arrived at last?"

"According to those tents on the other side of the field," Boromir said.

"Good. Then let's have supper quickly and ride out. There're a few things I need to talk over with him."

As soon as they had finished with supper the brothers went to change, Faramir into more comfortable, "Rangering" attire, Boromir into considerably more formal wear. It was all the difference between the two summed up in one picture. Faramir just shook his head when he saw his brother emerge dressed as if he was going to meet… the King of Gondor! He insisted that he at least wear one of his cloaks though, to make getting out of the City a little easier. And so, as the sun set behind the White Mountains, the two men rode forth over the Pelennor to where the hosts were camped.

As they approached the camp, two "guards" came forward to greet them. Faramir recognized Legolas and Gimli from some way off, though he knew little of the Dwarf and was slightly wary that someone had sent an Elf with a Dwarf. Faramir knew much more than enough history to know that it could get a little comfortable, to say the least. Still, he dismounted and embraced his old friend.

"It is good that you have come, pilin-nen," Legolas said with a slight smile.

Faramir lightly touched the Elf's arm, signaling that he wished to speak privately for a moment. "How is he taking this?" Faramir asked quietly.

"How am I to answer that question at the moment," Legolas responded, his gaze fixed on the younger man.

Faramir merely nodding, understanding his father's indecision on the matter. That Plan B might come in useful after all. "Where can he be found?" Faramir asked, glancing about.

"In his pavilion," Legolas said, still with that slight smile.

Faramir looked slightly doubtful and wondered if his father had accidentally wandered into it. Legolas shrugged slightly, indicating that he rather wondered the same.

"I had thought to have a little celebration tonight. It is what ellyn of Mirkwood do on the night before they hand their freedom over to some beguiling elleth… but I refrained. I believe he needed some time to think in quiet."

Turning, Faramir motioned toward the pavilion to Boromir, who was suddenly looking less like he was dressed to greet the King and more like he was going to face a court martial.

Faramir was the first under the canvas and Boromir told him he would give him a moment to catch up, waiting outside for his brother to call him in. Aragorn turned when the tent flap was raised and rushed over to hold his son. "We have been apart much too long, ion-nîn," Aragorn opined quietly.

"Agreed," Faramir said, keeping a tight hold on his ada. "Let us see to it that that is amended. I brought Bor', of course, as you asked."

"Good, call him in," Aragorn asked.

Boromir ducked under the tent flaps and stood at attention, consummate military man that he was, before going to his knee and withdrawing his sword, proffering it to the elder man before him with bowed head. "I would wish to be the first to offer my loyalty and allegiance to the King of Gondor," Boromir said.

Aragorn looked seriously at the ceremonially dressed warrior. "I am sorry, but that honor has already been taken. A dying man gave an oath of loyalty to me as his King some months ago on the banks of the Anduin."

Boromir dipped his head and said, "so happens the fellow pulled through after all."

"Aye, no thanks to his King," Aragorn replied, extending a hand to help Boromir stand. "It is so very good to see you well again, Boromir. You know not what it was like for me to be under the belief that an oversight of mine could have cost you your life. You shall always be welcome to whatever is mine, for I stand in your debt."

"Then there is only one thing that I would ask of you, my liege," Boromir said, standing straight and focusing on a spot slightly above Aragorn's forehead. Aragorn nodded and Boromir said on, "I would request to be permitted to retain my position in Gondor as Captain-General and allow the title of Steward to be kept by Faramir, sir."

Again Aragorn regarded Boromir solemnly for a very long moment before he said, "I can not grant that, Boromir. Truly, I can not authorize you to return to any capacity at the present time. I do not believe you are fully prepared to resume your duties."

Boromir struggled to keep himself in check, it was not easy for him at all. Had power already gone to this man's head? Yet, he swallowed his pride, quite the difficult task, bowed his head and took a slight step back. "As you deem it, sire," he said compliantly.

"Please, make yourself comfortable here, I wish to have a word with my son for a moment," Aragorn said, trying to sound pleasant again. Boromir nodded and Aragorn and Faramir slipped out the back of the tent. Boromir sighed wearily and sat down near the brazier, not noticing the four who quietly entered the tent behind his back.

Once the father and son had reached a safe speaking distance Aragorn said, "with any luck that will give him what he needs at last."

"A clever idea, father, well done. He has been in need of just such a meeting. But I wish to speak of you just now." Faramir did not fail to note the way his father hesitated at that.

"I am well, Faramir, if not well _with_ it." Aragorn was quiet for a moment before speaking again, much softer. "I can not tell you how many nights I have lain cold, wet, hungry, and miserable, bitter that a Ranger's lot was so and wishing for just one night in a proper bed, warm, full of food and drink, and happy. Now I am faced with a lifetime of what I'd so carelessly wished for numerous times on the road and I would gladly exchange it to be cold, wet, hungry, miserable, and my _own_ man again. I have no notion how I am to live confined in a city, by stone and expectations."

"Ada… the horse I rode out here I packed up for four days ride. She is fleet of foot. Four days is more than enough to get one clear of Gondor's borders. All you need do is say the word, for I can not be the one who does this to you. If you can not bear this fate, ada, then run now while you can. I know, I understand, for I did it myself, and I would never think less of you. Just be sure you move quickly."

"You would offer me this freedom…. What would you do…?" Aragorn asked, as if he was truly considering this.

Faramir shrugged. "Whatever the people wished. Perhaps they would have Boromir take the Crown."

"But what of _you_?" Aragorn pressed.

"I wouldn't mind going home," Faramir said. "Only, I do not think it would be home for much longer. In any case, you know daerada would understand, even though he has always 'nudged' you toward your 'destiny.'"

"It is a terrible change to accept, no matter how long I've had to consider it," Aragorn said broodingly.

"I think I begin to understand why you have always placed yourself at the fore of the worst trouble imaginable," Faramir said, trying to lighten his father's mood just a hair.

"I will accept it though," Aragorn said, his voice sounding just a little choked. "I must do. The time has come and I am needed, yet again, to serve others than myself. I must _try_, and if I fail in the attempt… I shan't be very shocked by it at least."

Faramir understood that his father needed to let himself a safety valve about this. "You aren't alone, ada. I will support you no matter your decision tonight. Only, if you can not bear it, you must flee before sunrise."

"Every man should have so compassionate a son!" Aragorn declared. "I thank you for giving me these last few hours. Although I know what I shall come morning: I shall do that which I should have done long ago."

"So many years have you spent fighting for freedom," Faramir said softly, holding his father's hand. "The freedom of the Shire, the freedom of Gondor, the freedom of all of Arda. Yet you will relinquish your own because the world of Men can only have the finest Man for their leader. Only you can lead them in the right ways, ada. It may take years, but one day we shall see a world of Men who live at harmony with their world, rather than at odds with it. And I shall never leave your side in this."

"_Im iston, Faramir, hannon le! Le melin, ion-nîn."_

"_Le melin, adar-nîn."_

* * *

Boromir's musing was heavy upon him. What did Aragorn expect of him anyway? He knew he still had some way to go before he was fully the warrior he had been before Amon Hen, but that need not preclude him from his duties as Captain-General! Still, Boromir knew this was not a time for squabbling, but he couldn't help but wonder just what the ensuing days would bring. If he clashed as much with Aragorn the King as he did Aragorn the Ranger, it would make for rather difficult going. Boromir sighed deeply. Hopefully those two would be back soon so that he could present Aragorn with all of the ceremonial garb for morning.

Behind Boromir and still over by the entrance of the tent stood the four who'd sneaked in. They were shooting looks between them that, if spoken aloud would go something like, "you go to him," "no, you," "why should I go?" and so on. Finally, one huffed inaudibly and stepped forward, waving off the "what are you doing!" glare of the other three.

"Hullo, Boromir! Nice to see you here," Pippin said, suddenly appearing beside the chair Boromir occupied.

Boromir was momentarily startled, and nearly greeted the upbeat Hobbit just as enthusiastically. All of a sudden, though, the smile died in Boromir's eyes. He remembered Merry visiting him once before the victory at the Black Gates, it was one of those many encounters Boromir had chosen to "sleep" through. Boromir saw that Pippin was not the only Hobbit in attendance and a wave of shame hit him full force. What he'd done to these innocent folk he deemed in every respect dishonorable, and thus surely unforgivable. He'd harmed Frodo to get the Ring, and as though that wasn't as bad as it could get, he'd tried to make an escape, running for the Elven boats on shore, even as he saw Merry and Pippin fighting to get away from those enormous cross-bred orcs. He'd failed them in the worst way. He supposed he should be glad that he had not encountered Sam, for who knew what he'd have done, and yet he knew any hurt Frodo bore, Sam bore twice over. He knew because it was the same for him with Faramir, and any who'd ever harmed his little brother made a mortal enemy of Boromir of Gondor.

Both Frodo and Sam read Boromir's inner battle too clearly; it was something about those who had close contact with the Ring, they just _understood_. "Boromir," Frodo said, taking up at the big man's other side. "You can not hold yourself accountable."

Boromir shut his eyes tightly, his head lowered. "I know full well what I did, and I can not accept -" The little, calloused hand that grasped his stopped him mid-sentence.

"You do not know what I did, though. In fact, only Sam, Gandalf, and Strider do," Frodo said glancing at Merry and Pippin, and silently begging their forgiveness for not speaking of it sooner. But it needed to said now, more to this man than to any else. "I never expected to survive this journey, not after what happened at Weathertop. I never really expected to get all the way to Mordor either, particularly after we lost Gandalf. But I did make it, and I did survive. And still I, too, failed."

"You did not -"

"I did, Boromir. And yet, even in our failure there is much yet to live for. We can never know just what might happen next. I failed, Boromir, exactly as Isildur did, right there in the heart of Mount Doom. I tell you truly, in that moment, with all of Middle Earth at stake, I would not have destroyed it, I would not have let it go. Gandalf was right, for had it not been for Gollum, all would be lost. You see, Gollum did get the Ring back, in the end." Frodo looked down at the hand that held Boromir's, and only then did the Gondorian realize that one finger was _missing_.

"I can not honestly say that I would have done differently if I had it to do again. The reason for that is clear to me now, it was none of my decision. It was not I in control then, as nor was it you in control at Amon Hen. You were a great and noble ally to us all, we would not have survived even as far as Caradhras if not for you. Boromir… for my part, I forgive you unreservedly."

"As do I," Sam said, standing resolutely at Frodo's side, as ever.

"You know we bear you no ill will," Pippin said, speaking for Merry and himself. Merry nodded in agreement.

Boromir was caught utterly speechless. He shut his eyes, letting the gathered up tears make their escape. "I haven't even had the strength to forgive myself…" he whispered, "but you…. May the gods bless you all, and all of the Shire, eternally."

Pippin did his best to put his small arms around those broad shoulders of Boromir's and before long Boromir had been turned into something of a Hobbit hat-rack, with all four of them attempting to hug him all at once. It did rather take all four to make one hug for the big man, and their laughter eased the last of that lingering pain from his heart.

"But then… what did happen to the Ring?" Boromir asked. He knew it had been destroyed, but if Frodo didn't…?

"Oh, that was your little brother's doing," Sam said with a half smile.

"_My_ little brother? But Fara' couldn't…."

"He's the one what put that curse on Gollum. Said if he ever harmed Mr. Frodo death should find him swiftly. So it did. Said that when we came to get the Ring in Ithilien. He was lookin' after you an' them Rangers dragged us in, takin' us for children. I told him all about what'd gone on and he gave us some supplies and his Rangers give us Gollum back, not that I was thankin' them for that too heartily. But when he come out from tending to you to see us off like, he took one look at Gollum and knew he was no good and said, 'May death find you quickly if you bring them to harm.' And sure enough, that nasty little Gollum no sooner got that Ring back than he toppled off the ledge and right into the fire."

Boromir couldn't help from breaking into a smile. "That's the last time I do anything to get Fara' mad at me!


	73. To Be or Not To Be

Before very long, Aragorn and Faramir returned to the pavilion, to see Boromir and four Hobbits laughing joyfully. Aragorn smiled, if wearily, and said simply, "_now_ fully prepared, I perceive, and permission duly granted, Captain-General." Boromir very proudly offered the ceremonial attire he had brought for the King, wondering how he would reconcile the luxurious items with the image of the rough Ranger he had known the man as. Faramir still read the hesitancy in his father's eyes, and was beginning to wonder if Aragorn really would make a run for it.

Once each piece had been given and it was shown how it should be worn, Aragorn swiftly turned the subject to other matters, topics which, unsurprisingly, had nothing to do with Kingdoms. If Boromir found it odd that the King wasn't all that interested in what was going on in his high city, he did not let it be known.

There was conversation for a short time before Aragorn rose and withdrew from the pavilion, saying that he would be nearby but that he wished to be alone for a time. Faramir closely watched as his father left them. The younger man took a deep breath, wondering if his this was it – his father's escape.

Boromir looked over at Faramir as if to ask what he had against Aragorn spending a few quiet moments with his thoughts, but Faramir shrugged it off and suggested that they get back to the City and prepare for the morning. Boromir was about to take the reins of the horse who had borne all the ritual garb, but Faramir recommended that they leave that horse in camp. Again Boromir gave his brother a strange look, but Faramir just mounted his own horse and started off. As the two rode up through the City and moved into the Citadel, Boromir couldn't help but notice that Faramir frequently looked out over the Pelennor toward the encampment.

Away in the distance, out of sight and not near the camp, Aragorn whistled softly and the horse who had been left in camp walked over to him. Aragorn was quiet for a long time, just watching the horse's eyes as it stood before him, waiting to be boarded. Slowly, skillfully Aragorn moved his hands to the horse's bridle and took the reins.

* * *

Faramir took no sleep whatever that night. He already had everything settled in his mind as to what he would do if Aragorn emerged from his pavilion in ceremonious wear, even if none else had any knowledge of it. But had his father decided to flee, how would he handle that? It made no difference, he knew, for he had to give his ada one last chance to make the decision that would effectively change his life, irreversibly. If he had indeed run, Faramir knew he would follow, not immediately, but certainly before very long. Yet it would break his brother's heart, and that thought did not allow Faramir to rest at all. It was all Faramir could do to hope that he would see his ada come forth and take up the Crown that would change the fate of Middle-Earth.

When he could see the moon indicating another two hours until dawn, Faramir dressed in the garments that had been tailored for him for this occasion. He had made certain that they were kept fairly simple, royal blue as an homage to his Dol Amroth ancestry, despite the Citadel's tailor insisting that the man who was acting as Steward _had_ to be more decorated. When Faramir told the man to 'decorate' Boromir if he so wished, the tailor had complained that that was what Lord Boromir had proposed, decorating someone else instead. Faramir did capitulate to a circlet, but would not wear the headgear of the former Steward and instead had one fashioned to his own specifications. Unwittingly, Faramir's wear was quite in line with something that his daerada would have chosen. As he checked over the details one last time in a mirror, he suddenly wondered what Éowyn would think of his attire… and what she herself would be wearing. He'd found her so beautiful in the simple dresses he'd seen her in, he could only think that it would be she who would be making the gown look stunning.

There had yet to be any stirring in the room adjoining his and Faramir found his half-brother sound asleep still. He wondered if it wouldn't be more merciful to let Boromir sleep through the day. Again he thought that if his father could not bear this day, it would shatter Boromir's trust completely, not to mention that of many, many others. Faramir understood this, and yet, he also understood how much this frightened his father. And so, still again, Faramir was effectively caught between sides, able to understand both points of view. It was not always a kind ability to have.

"Boromir," Faramir called softly. "Come on, there's a lot to have done with this morning." One thing he did need Boromir for was to fetch from the vaults the casks containing the royal regalia.

"After breakfast," Boromir mumbled. "Have them send up some eggs for us," he said, turning over and making it obvious that naught would be done till he was fed.

Faramir wore a look of disgust. "You can have whatever you want, but don't even dream of trying to get me to eat that." For Faramir, eggs were survival-food only, unless he was on the brink of starving, he could scarcely choke down the things. Faramir decided that he wasn't exactly hungry for anything, but sent someone to bring something for Boromir to eat right away, there was no point in delaying a hungry Boromir.

Once Boromir had broken fast to his satisfaction, Faramir was quick to get him outfitted. When Boromir questioned just how Faramir had gotten himself into his own attire, Faramir raised a brow and said, "there are no squires out at Henneth Annûn, nor in Imladris." Then again, Boromir's ceremonial clothing was a good bit more complicated. The two stood as brothers in contrast, Faramir in his simpler, calmer blue and silver hues, Boromir in his ornate, soldierly red and fiery gold.

Faramir went with Boromir and Beregond and Húrin the gatekeeper into the Hallows where the Crown of Gondor had rested since Eärnur's death. There also was a scepter, both items kept in fine caskets of lebethron wood, inlaid with silver (Faramir was surprised that it was only plain silver and not mithril), and lined in silks and velvets of Gondorian color and sigil.

Boromir offered to let his little brother bear the White Rod of the Steward, but Faramir asked that Boromir bear it until the time came for the coronation itself, that it may be shown publicly that Boromir would gift the Stewardship to Faramir in order to retain his own position. It was only fair, thought Boromir, for after all, Faramir had been the one to accomplish all the things that the Steward was supposed to for the coronation, and anyway, it would not even be necessary to have a Steward after the main event.

Beregond was looking a little pale, being in the Silent Street again after what had taken place there the last time. Faramir did not fail to notice and instead of lingering in the place for some sort of official removal ceremony that he'd read about, he concentrated on expediting their return to the living faction of Minas Tirith. "I am still in your debt, Beregond, and ever shall be," Faramir whispered to the man who had been a friend to him ever since his _second_ day in the City. "Please trust me when I tell you that neither you, nor Bergil, has anything to fear."

The guard looked at Faramir, Captain, Lord, and simply the Man, and he understood that Faramir would not hesitate to protect him in his moment of greatest need just as he had done for him. From there Beregond retired to join the rest of the Guard and Húrin accompanied Faramir and Boromir to the stables, where all three men saddled up and rode down through the City streets.

It was on the fourth circle when Faramir asked Boromir to halt for a moment. The elder could not figure out what the younger was doing dismounting and walking over to the crowd lining the street. Faramir walked up to a young, rather unprivileged-looking boy and knelt down to his level. "What is your name, lad?" Faramir asked the boy who equally as astonished as Boromir.

"Rhudar, my lord," the boy answered quite meekly.

Faramir smiled softly. "Rhudar, may I entrust this item to you for the time being? You see, I must go now and greet the King and welcome him home, but if you would be so kind as to help me and just hold on to this until he comes here with me to fetch it?"

The child's eyes went wide when he saw that Faramir was asking him to hold the box containing the King's staff for him. "My lord… I – I cannot, must not…."

"You would be doing me a true favor, and the King as well," Faramir entreated, hoping to get passed the lad's reticence.

"I… I will, sir, if you wish me to," young Rhudar said, holding out his arms to gently cradle the rather weighty box.

"Thank you, lad," Faramir said, standing again, "I am in your debt." The boy's smile was contagious and Faramir beamed as he returned to his horse and remounted.

Boromir, however, had not caught the infectivity. "Faramir," he whispered urgently, "please, _please_, tell me you did not just hand the scepter to an urchin…."

"Of course I did not!" Faramir replied, also keeping his voice down, though speaking with no concern at all. "I handed it to a young lad awaiting the arrival of his King."

"You're taking years off my life, you do know that? _Why_ have you done that?" Boromir begged to know.

"New tradition," Faramir said with a grin, "something I just came up with."

Boromir looked worried. Who knew what else Faramir would "come up with." Taking a tighter grip on his horse's reins, Boromir sat up a little straighter in the saddle, and wrapped his arm protectively around the cask he was bearing containing the great Crown.

The third and second circles went slowly by before Boromir and Faramir stopped in the square behind the makeshift gates which Master Húrin went to stand beside. Faramir glanced about the crowd for a few moments, everything seemed perfectly ready. Faramir hopped down from his mount, causing Boromir to stare, what was he doing now that they were just about to ride out to say 'good morning' to Fara's ada? Faramir reached up to his brother and Boromir said unenthusiastically, "I can get down on my own, if that's what you want, I'm not a helpless maid, you know." It was just a lucky thing that the crowd was buzzing enough that Éowyn missed that remark, for she too was amongst those assembled in the square.

Faramir raised a brow, "I've known maids a great deal more helpful than you, but what I want is for you to hand me that great cask you have there."

"Why?" Boromir asked suspiciously. Who was he planning to hand this invaluable artifact off to, his friend from Dunland over in the prison?

"Because, I'm your little brother and I said so," Faramir replied petulantly. "Not to mention the son of the soon-to-be King of Gondor," he added in a whisper that none else would hear.

Boromir glared, there were very few who could pull rank with him, even in jest, and bugger if he wasn't related to all of them! Reluctantly Boromir handed to fine box to his brother and watched as Faramir moved through to the back of the crowd with it and then reemerged with an elderly woman, who looked worse off than the street-waif boy, but was smiling and blushing under her grayed countenance.

Boromir just shook his head as Faramir remounted and together they rode through the gates and out onto the Pelennor. This coronation was not going to be even remotely like anything he'd imagined.

They stopped halfway between the City and the encampment and waited to see the man of the hour appear from his pavilion and stand forth. Only now did Faramir allow real fear to grip him and the wait was excruciating. The fear in Faramir's eyes was alarmingly evident to Boromir and for a moment he felt like teasing his brother that he could just see those two street people turning a very fast profit, but he knew that Faramir's worry was real and much more relevant that a couple trinkets that hadn't been looked at in 1000 years. Faramir was focused on the banner outside Aragorn's pavilion and Boromir set an encouraging hand on his brother's shoulder. "You aren't condemning him, Far'. I know your father holds doubts and fears, but I know what I saw in his eyes when I lay nearly dying by the river. There's something in him that he's not really tapped into before, and maybe been afraid to, but he will be a King like no other ever could be. And with you and I as support, what could possibly go wrong?"

Across the field were arrayed Rohirrim aside Swan Knights aside Dûnedain. Four Hobbits could be seen, as well as a Dwarf and an Elf. Notably missing, however, were two matching Elves andwhat should be one veryfinely arrayed Man. Faramir guessed that an awful lot could go wrong. With the entire citizenry of Minas Tirith, and then some, watching the scene from the city walls, Faramir had to think that this could only go wrong on such a huge scale if Ilúvatar no longer cared a whit about any of them.


	74. Aragorn's Choice

The new grass was warm under his back as Aragorn was awakened by the rays of Arnor slipping down to him through the young leaves on the trees he rested under. It took him a few moments to process the significance of that fact as he sat up slowly. Hearing the crowds a bit away at his left reminded him though. He dragged a hand through his hair, realizing that he hadn't meant to fall asleep at all, and though the sun was not risen high, he was meant to be back in his pavilion and should be ready to walk out and meet his doom.

He looked up at the horse who stood dozing nearby. "Treasonous creature," Aragorn muttered, pulling himself up and dusting off. Aragorn let his gaze wander northward where the trees thickened. Dense forests were a deterrent to many, but Aragorn tended to look at things differently and saw deep cover, sanctuary, refuge.

"Your heart is divided," a voice said behind him.

Aragorn did not turn at first, then only hesitantly. It sounded like Gandalf was about to take him to task over not being ready yet. "Those trees call me," he said quietly. "For the first time in my life I can actually hear them, just as Legolas and El' and El' and every other Elf I've ever met. I can hear them, as surely as I hear you."

"And what do they say?" Gandalf inquired.

"They say they would shelter me, guard me… hide me."

"Ask them, then, what they would do for the people of Gondor."

"If the people of Gondor would learn that trees are not just decorations…," Aragorn flared, then immediately settled, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Gandalf looked grave and gruff, but softened and opened his arms to the "young" man. Aragorn practically fell into them.

"Did you think all your trials would end with Sauron's downfall?" Gandalf asked.

"Yes, of course I did, I thought that was the point of -" Aragorn could feel Gandalf shake his head.

"You have lived for nearly nine score years - all but not at all – and, according to your bloodline, you have some way to go before you may lay down your burdens. But now is a change, for though you had spent many of your years wandering alone, now you shall have the aid of others who love you dearly."

"I am homesick, Gandalf," Aragorn whispered against the Wizard's shoulder.

"Oh, do not presume to tell me that I have never seen that in you before!" Gandalf chided laughingly, hugging the weary man tighter. "Only, home shall be coming to you before too long and your transition shall be eased."

"My joints ache and protest that I rest, enough sleeping on the ground and swinging about five pounds of steel for hours on end. My mind tells me that I can do more good upon a throne than I ever could wandering aimlessly. But my heart… I love the earth I have walked and the things that only the earth can know. To be parted from these things is my greatest fear."

"A man must heed his heart if he is to do right, Estel, you know that. But one cannot discount the wisdom of the mind either."

Aragorn turned his head away, terrified of his decision.

* * *

It had been nearly half of an hour that Faramir and Boromir were sitting there on their horses in their fine robes, eyes trained on the biggest pavilion and marking no movement. Faramir was reciting Elven chants in his head in a desperate attempt to keep himself from utter panic.

"I always thought your father to be an early riser," Boromir said softly, noticing that Faramir seemed tense. Faramir jumped, startled even by Boromir's muted tone. "Far', relax, everything will be all right. I've never seen you this anxious." Boromir was starting to get a bit worried about his younger brother, it took a lot to perturb the quiet Ranger and only once had Boromir seen any evidence of such disquiet in Faramir, after that battle in Osgiliath just before they set out for Imladris.

"We can be so different, you and I," Faramir whispered. "Boromir, there is something you need to know…."

Boromir turned slowly toward Faramir, judging by those words, he was likely not going to be very comfortable with whatever his little brother needed to tell him.

Faramir took a deep, calming breath and said, "Last night when we rode out… I told you to leave that horse out there for a reason, Bor'."

Terror suddenly filled Boromir's eyes, if he read his little brother's meaning correctly, this was worse than the Balrog in Moria. Leaning toward his brother in entreaty, Boromir all but begged, "Faramir, please, please… just do not say that he is…."

Faramir closed his eyes, sighed, and in a mere breath started to say, "I cannot -"

Just then, the tent flaps were opened and out stepped the twin sons of Elrond. Faramir felt his heart beating in his chest like the hammers of the smiths of Eregion as his uncles stood solemn as sentinels, holding the tent flaps.

After an interminable moment, out stepped, to Faramir and Boromir's collective alarm, Gandalf.

Faramir had the sinking feeling that the Wizard had come forth to announce that the would-be King was no where to be found. Faramir's fingers were tightening on the horse's left reign, about to signal her to turn about and walk back to the City, when Gandalf in his gleaming white robes stepped aside and there appeared the most regal, stately, and majestic looking Mortal Man Faramir had ever beheld. Tears rose up as he heard the deafening roar of the 7 levels behind him cheering in utter jubilation.

Boromir beside him laughed and was smiling broadly. "Little bugger, you really had me scared! Come, let's go bid good day to the _King_."

Faramir sensed that this just might be a good day for everyone but the King. He hoped that his presence at his father's side would help to allay that.

Faramir and Boromir both advanced a bit farther before both dismounted and turned and, in view of the citizens of Minas Tirith and the gathered envoys and armies of neighboring lands, as well as the soon-to-be King, Boromir held aloft the White Rod of the Stewardship. This was a man used to projecting his voice in order to be heard by a great number of people and as silence fell over the City, Boromir said in a voice only such a robust man could effect, "My friends and countrymen, people of Gondor and lands beyond, this is a day such that has not been seen by any of those among us. And many are those who we wish were still here to share this moment with us." For a moment Boromir was silent before resuming. "For 8 and 20 years, in one way or another, have I been in service to this land, and been Captain General for the best part of those years. The traditions of our people would now have me set aside those years and hold not a sword, but a rod of rule. Yet there are those who can serve Gondor better than I in that capacity, and I hold that it is my duty to see to it that Gondor has only the finest, and best for the task. Thus, at this time, I wish to make it known that it is my desire to abdicate the Office of the Steward to Lord Faramir, this, in mean repayment of my debt to him for saving my life. Faramir has move than proven his merit, time and time again."

Again Boromir lifted up the White Rod, and the people of Gondor cheered their approval as he passed it over to Faramir. The brothers embraced and Faramir carried on from there. It was a little more difficult for him to project his voice as well as Boromir did, for Faramir had always been soft spoken, an Elven habit he obtained growing up in Imladris which served him very well in Ithilien. "Good people," he said, "the whole of Middle-earth has arrived at a cross-roads many of us have doubted ever to behold. I accept the incredible honor gifted me by Lord Boromir and do swear to make every good, helpful, and just use of this Office. But before you all now stands a choice. Gondor stands today as a statue, tall, proud, full of glory and proof of her maker's ability and wisdom and strength. But this statue has not a head and Gondor is incomplete. Today, here on this field, comes one to complete this magnificent opus. If you approve of my holding this scepter, then I have but one request: approve more so of one whose worth in wisdom, strength, justice, mercy, and love, is invaluable." Faramir turned toward his father and knelt. By response and as a sign of their suffrages, so too did all the people assembled.

Aragorn walked forward, stilling his nerves as best he could and not really knowing what was expected of him in that moment. He rested a hand on Faramir's shoulder and whispered in a cracking voice, "_hannon le, ion-nîn_…" before raising up his hands toward the city of people and canting, "_Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar, tenn' Ambar-metta!_"

The people rose and cheered wildly until Faramir again addressed them, saying, "For 1000 years Gondor has been without a crowned head. That ends this day! And since it is not at all possible now to follow the rituals as they were once written down regarding the passing of the Crown of Gondor from the hands of the previous King, today we shall set a new precedent." Faramir and Boromir again mounted up as Aragorn's horse and banner were brought over by the twins. Aragorn mounted and when Elladan handed him his standard, Aragorn passed it to Boromir, who lowered his head in gratitude and admiration.

With Boromir to his left and Faramir to his right, the three rode the short distance to the Gates, which were opened wide, to yet another cheer. The armies following the King's entourage would have some wait to get into the City! As the three men dismounted in the small space that the crowd allowed them, Faramir held out his hand toward the elderly woman who held the large lebethron box. His other hand he held out toward his father. Aragorn had no idea what exactly his inventive son was up to.

Faramir unlatched the box and the woman lifted out the weighty Crown of Eärnur. Shyly and blushing, the crone stretched up toward Aragorn, who quickly knelt once he understood what was going on and bowed his head. Inventive son indeed, and cunning! Aragorn was humbled and awed by this simple ceremony. The weight of the thing was immense, but now Aragorn felt more able than ever to truly hold up his head.

It was slow (and noisy!) going up through the circles to the feast that awaited up in the Citadel. Halfway through, just outside of the Merry Widow, Faramir halted his horse and dismounted. Again, Aragorn did not have any foreknowledge of what was going on, but he followed suit, trusting Faramir implicitly. This time he was lead over to where a child stood with another cask of lebethron wood, bearing the same motif as the one which Boromir was now carrying again (and relieved to have it back). The boy took out a scepter from its exquisite lining, holding it with reverence as if it belonged to Lord Manwë himself. Aragorn was again overwhelmed by the powerful statement this uncomplicated rite held. As he knelt and accepted the rod of rule from the little one, he bowed his head and whispered to the child, "I swear that I shall care for Gondor to the best of my ability, though I know not what that is."

To his surprise, the elated child reached out and gave his King the sort of uninhibited hug that only a trusting child could. "Happy birthday, your majesty," the little boy said excitedly, and Aragorn's tears broke free along with his laughter – if the child only knew how fitting that was!

Once the Citadel was, at _long_ last, achieved, and those crowds gathered there waded through, Boromir suggested that the father and son take a moment to recuperate before going headlong into the feast in the Merethrond. The King's House was ready to welcome the first King of Gondor in 1000 years and in the King's private apartments they could escape from the fawning assembly. Aragorn quietly agreed that he could do with a few moments of peace and to shed some of the more ceremonial (and therefore, in his mind, utterly useless) aspects of the costume he was in.

Boromir led the way and once away from the pressing throng, handed the "keys to the kingdom" over to Aragorn, saying, "_now_ it's all official!" Aragorn offered a weary smile by return and Boromir told them he would let the family be alone for a while until the rest of those invited for the feast had first made it to the hall, and then grown impatient for the guest of honor.

"I would sooner have you stay with us here, Boromir," Aragorn said sincerely, "you are most certainly our family as well." Boromir looked at Aragorn for a long, discerning moment before he bowed deeply in gratitude. Aragorn smiled and grasped the shoulder of the younger man and said, "I want you to take that seriously, this is _your_ home, Boromir, and my coming should not change anything about that. It is I who am grateful to you. Now, come, rest a while with us, you deserve it as much as anyone does."

Aragorn was tempted to explain that Boromir was in fact a half-nephew to him, but he decided that it could wait, perhaps forever. Aragorn suspected that it would be more valuable to the proud warrior if he would simply regard Boromir as he did his own son; he knew enough about Boromir's childhood to know that, while Imrahil was a wonderful uncle to his sister's son, Boromir had really lost his father at the age of five; when he returned to Minas Tirith 15 years later, all that was left was a paternal Lord Steward. Aragorn couldn't help but feel at least partially responsible for that.

Boromir, for his part, accepted the invitation favorably and decided that as thanks he would let the matter of the Dunlending in the prison go for a day or two, even though he had dearly wanted Aragorn to rule on that immediately after taking up the crown.

* * *

_hannon le, ion-nin_ - thank you, my son

_Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar, tenn' Ambar-metta - _Elendil's words at the 'founding' of Gondor, "Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world!"


End file.
